


The Dare of Truth

by Arcaniel



Series: Xenobia's Wyndrah world [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Detectives, Disability, Hurt/Comfort, Journalism, M/M, Mpreg, Romance, Wyndrah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:23:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcaniel/pseuds/Arcaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Secrets": 34 years later, Fyn's an investigative journalist dedicated to his work, but new circumstances force him to find out things he'd have preferred to stay hidden. And there's also his attractive and strange new colleague...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Fyn hates being cute

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear readers, I'm back with the promised sequel to "Secrets". Please read that story first, or else this one won't make any sense at all.
> 
> The Wyndrah world belongs to Xenobia, I'm just playing in it ^^
> 
> Enjoy the story!

The Dare of Truth

Chapter 1

Fyn Sheldon sighed angrily for the umpteenth time. He had been doing that all morning while he ate breakfast and got ready for work, and it didn't make him feel better at all.

His new assignment was just a bad joke. Here he was, one of the best investigative journalists in Valkyrie Falls, and he had to write for the culture, society, and sports columns until further notice! In the last two years, he had uncovered six scandals involving high society members, among them politicians and other influential citizens. But now… two weeks ago, the "Valkyrie Times" had gotten a new editor-in-chief. Jordan McKenzie had a lot of associates and friends among the people touched by the exposed scandals, and his first order had been to lay low the investigative journalism for a while and "concentrate on more important things," as he had put it.

Important things? The lifebearer snorted. McKenzie was just afraid that more dirt on his buddies would be discovered, maybe even something on himself. And if there had been a newspaper equal to the "Valkyrie Times", Fyn wouldn't have hesitated to quit his job there. But as things were, he had to grit his teeth, play nice for a while and then hopefully get back to what he was really good at. Or he would help out his sire for the time being, at least with the research. Private investigator Sheldon was the best there was, and Fyn had learned a lot from him for his own trade like building information networks and asking the right questions at the right time.

In truth, Fyn would have loved to follow in his sire's footsteps. He would have also gone to the police academy or even join the Alliance as an Ulvari agent. The young lifebearer was a ruthless researcher, had lots of contacts, and, since he had been training in Martial Arts since childhood, he could also hold himself very well in a fight. But a PI, a police officer or an agent had one more thing in common: they had to be able to outrun others. And that was the problem.

"Damn it," Fyn grumbled as he pulled on his jacket and then sat down to carefully lace up his boots. As a toddler, Fyn had fallen down some stairs due to an accident, and the bones in his lower right leg had suffered a complicated splintered fracture. The doctors and physiotherapists had done everything they could over the years, but now, at age 39, Fyn still walked with a very slight limp and was unable to run fast or for long distances. And when the weather changed, his leg ached like the human old-age disease called arthritis.

It had just been a series of very unfortunate circumstances. Normally, lashran healed much faster than humans, but that didn't do any good if the bones didn't mend the way they were supposed to. Fyn had also grown very rapidly at that point, giving the healing bones even more problems. It was far better now than it had been when he was a little child, and the leg had gotten strong enough again for him to learn Martial Arts. But there were some things Fyn could never do. So he had decided to fight for justice and truth in another way and became a journalist.

And even that was now almost being taken from him!

Fyn finished lacing up his boots, grabbed his keys and exited the apartment. It was a rather stylish loft since his job paid very well and he was frugal in his lifestyle. No car, since there weren't any parking spaces around the "Valkyrie Times" building, no parties and no fancy clothes for clubbing since dancing was awkward with his leg, no big trips since Fyn loved the city. The only thing the young lifebearer bought with almost an obsession were books, so almost every wall of his apartment was covered with a full set of shelves.

Directly outside the building, there was a bus stop, and Fyn arrived there just in time to be taken a few blocks downtown to the "Valkyrie Times". As always during this hour, the bus was full of school kids, loudly talking, laughing or having their earphones on deafening volume to anyone sitting nearby. And as always, Fyn got hit on.

"Hey cutie, are you going to Hilltop High as well? I haven't seen you before, but I'm usually not on this bus…" A young sire, maybe sixteen, all gangly limbs from a growth spurt, said to him. He grinned at Fyn expectantly.

Fyn rolled his eyes. Really, if the bus wasn't so convenient… "I'm not into jailbait, 'cutie'."

The boy didn't give up. "Wow, you're eighteen already? I would have thought you were younger than me. But I don't mind, we could…"

The bus stopped. "I've got to go to work," Fyn declared with mock-regret. "And you should go hit on someone who's not more than twice your age."

The boy gaped at him as he exited the bus.

Fyn was just glad that school holidays began in a few days, and then he would be spared those endless pick-up lines from those babies. And all this because of his looks.

The lifebearer sighed - again. In these moments, he felt like he was cursed. As if the leg wasn't enough…

Fyn entered the building, flashed his employee card to the janitor and took the lift up to the fifth floor, where his office was. The lift had a big mirror, and Fyn scowled at it. His reflection, a very pretty, tiny lifebearer who looked to be barely out of middle school, pouted at him in the most adorable way. He had huge pastel green eyes and a pixie-like face with lots of freckles over his button nose. Curls of unruly platinum blonde hair had escaped his ponytail and framed his face.

"Don't worry, in a few years you'll look more mature," his father always assured him. But it hadn't happened so far. Fyn looked exactly the way he had looked when he was fifteen: women and lifebearers wanted to pinch his cheeks and give him sweets, and every decent man or sire his age he had met somewhere had avoided him for fear of going to jail for statutory rape. The only guys who openly showed interest in him were perverts to whom he would give a swift kick in the crotch.

With a 'ding', the lift stopped, and Fyn stepped into the busy writing department of the "Valkyrie Times". Everyone greeted him with a smile, and he forced himself to smile back. Those people had accepted him after long months, sometimes years of trying to be taken seriously despite his looks. Among them, he was just another journalist who worked hard to get his job done the best way he could.

"Mr. Sheldon!" The lifebearer had just reached his office when a young woman with short black hair rushed toward him. Celia Warren was an intern, and despite being exploited as an unpaid worker, she was always helpful, eager to learn and quick. Fyn had already told his superiors that he wanted her as his assistant in case she applied for a real job after finishing college. 

"Good morning, Celia. Did you get the reports?" he asked. Fyn had sent her to the archives for some old reports he wanted to review.

"Yes, they're on your desk. But there's something else. Mr. McKenzie's secretary gave me a note for you. I don't know why she didn't just send you an email, but here it is." She handed Fyn a hand-written note. He read it, then read it again. And finally, he scrunched it up.

"Are you alright?" Celia asked with a worried tone.

Fyn nodded. "It's nothing. Come on, let's get to work. I'll go read those reports, and you can find me some upcoming events in the culture department. I won't stoop so low as to do sports reports. Art and music are at least something I like."

"On it, boss!" the girl grinned and ran off. Fyn had never seen Celia walk slowly. She was like a little whirlwind, full of energy. He was almost a bit envious, although he knew humans lived for a far shorter lifespan than lashran and had to make the best of it. Fyn himself had all the time in the world, decades and centuries to do everything he wanted to.

But there were some things he'd never have.

 

By lunchtime, Fyn had a full schedule for the following week: two concerts, one opera premiere, three exhibitions at galleries, a fair for interior design, and a runway show. Most people might have been thanking their boss for practically paying them to have fun, but Fyn was not most people. Although he liked concerts, exhibitions and the like, he hated the way famous people tended to use such events to get into the limelight. But he had to be thankful that his editor-in-chief hadn't assigned him to the gossip department. Although, given his research skills, he might have dug up a lot of nasty secrets on the actors, musicians, and starlets of this city.

The lifebearer just wanted to head out to grab some lunch when Celia poked her head in. "Sorry, Mr. Sheldon, but there's someone looking for you. A Mr. Solir?"

Fyn frowned. "Yes. Let him in, please."

He hadn't expected that guy to show up today already. The note from Mr. McKenzie had told him that Fyn's new partner would be the editor-in-chief's brother-in-law, Eondar Solir. The sire was a photographer and would be accompanying Fyn from now on.

Just what Fyn needed: some stuck-up rich guy who only got the job due to his relation to the boss. He had really hoped to be spared the guy's presence a bit longer, but today just wasn't his day. He had to brace himself for the worst.

A very tall sire entered his office moments later. He was wearing a dark suit, and his skin was far more tanned than was usual for a lashran in these regions. Chocolate-brown hair framed his face, falling into his eyes. They were a cold, steely gray underneath bushy eyebrows. All in all, the man looked like a hitman from a movie thriller with an unreadable expression on his chiseled features to match.

And this was his new photographer?

Fyn remembered his manners, got up from his desk and extended a hand. "Eondar Solir? Mr. McKenzie told me to expect you. I'm Fyn Sheldon. Welcome to the "Valkyrie Times".

Mr. Solir hesitated a moment before taking Fyn's hand. His grip was firm, but not overly so. "Thank you. Hope I can be of some help to you, sir."

Fyn arched his eyebrows at that polite answer and the voice it was delivered in. The sire had a surprisingly soft and gentle voice despite it being very deep.

"Well, you don't have to call me that. You are surely older than me," Fyn amended while some of his worst worries began to fade. This guy sure didn't seem to be the overconfident type like he had expected.

"You're my senior here at work, Mr. Sheldon," Mr. Solir answered calmly. "And as far as reports from Avras society go, I'm a newcomer."

Ah, so the man was inexperienced! Fyn hated to be right. Nevertheless, he asked, "What have you been doing prior to this assignment? Mr. McKenzie just told me that you're a photographer, nothing else."

Solir's shoulders tensed a bit, although his face still betrayed nothing. "I've been travelling all over Wyndrah during the last twenty years as a photo journalist, reporting from every hot spot you can imagine. A few months ago I was on Azirus, documenting the clan wars there."

Now it was Fyn's turn to tense up. Azirus was one of the Zarn islands, infamous for their organised crime and modern pirate hideouts. No sane journalist would set foot there. It was a miracle the man was still alive. Speaking of which…

"Wait… Clan wars on Azirus? There was a brilliant documentary on TV a few weeks back. I didn't see you in it, but that's no wonder if you were the man behind the camera."

The sire nodded. "I was." His eyes darkened for a moment.

Now that the lifebearer had made the connection, he clearly remembered that documentary. The worst part, however, was the fact that one of the journalists had been killed there. A stray bullet had hit him during a street fight.

Fyn was intelligent enough not to pry any further, but now he could understand why someone like Eondar Solir had decided to do some harmless and easy work. Seeing a colleague getting killed right in front of your eyes… Fyn wouldn't dare to imagine how horrible that must have been.

Dropping the matter, the lifebearer gave his new photographer a cautious smile. "Well, now I know that you understand your business. We don't have any plans for today, so you can leaf through our photo archives to get a feeling for the way we like to illustrate our articles. Miss Warren will help you. And tomorrow, we'll be visiting a new exhibition at the Lunar Gallery."

Mr. Solir nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best to quickly adapt to the way things are handled here."

 

The photographer stayed true to his word. All afternoon, he was pouring over the archives according to Celia and just paused for a quick coffee. The girl was truly impressed with the sire, Fyn realized when she told him about it shortly before closing time. "He's really polite and nice despite his sinister looks," she added. "He even treated me like I was a long-time employee and HE was the new intern."

That was something Fyn liked to hear. And since he prided himself in being a good judge of character, Solir didn't just suck up to endear himself to his new co-workers. "Thanks for taking care of him, Celia," he said. "And let's hope he's also easy to work with."

Celia smiled. "I'm sure."

 

The next day, Fyn was about to find out. The exhibition's opening was in the evening, but Fyn had managed to get an appointment with Lunar Gallery's manager for 11 a.m. That way, the story would be going into print for the next morning already whereas everyone else who had to wait for the official opening would also have to wait another day for their articles to be published.

As the lifebearer gathered his recording device - an ancient, but trusted piece of technology that he had had since his childhood - and his electronic notepad, Eondar Solir was already waiting outside his office door with an expensive-looking camera in hand. "Good morning, sir," he greeted Fyn in that deep voice of his.

"Morning. Come on, let's head out," Fyn urged. "We can catch the bus."

"Wouldn't it be easier if we take my brother-in-law's car? He allowed me the use of it for any events during the day."

Fyn swallowed the urge to say something nasty concerning his editor-in-chief and nepotism, although it was indeed easier. "If you say so," he just answered. "But the city traffic is not fun, I'm warning you."

The photographer said nothing.

 

Ten minutes later, they were at Lunar Gallery. Fyn had no idea how they had managed to escape any accidents despite Solirs hazardous driving style, but it had been fast, so he wasn't about to complain.

As he exited the car, a very nice, silver cruiser, his right foot got caught on the edge of the door, and he stumbled. It was one of the reasons why he didn't like cars; they were just too impractical to maneuver in despite his tiny frame. Fyn all but expected to crash into the concrete floor face-first - as he had done often enough - but at the last moment, a strong arm caught him.

"Uh, thanks," the lifebearer mumbled, expecting a useless, patronizing comment in the lines of "be careful" or "are you alright?" like he had received far too often.

But Eondar Solir said nothing. He just made sure that Fyn had both feet safely on the ground before he let go of him.

 

To be continued...


	2. in which Fyn gets a new room-mate and some friendly advice

Chapter 2

It was lunchtime when Fyn and his new photographer left the gallery. The lifebearer was in his best mood yet since he had received his new orders. The gallery owner, a woman with a true passion for art and a lot of knowledge to go with it, had told him a great story about one of the old pictures that was on exhibit for the first time in years. According to her, the picture was rumored to be cursed since every owner it had ever had died from a mysterious disease. After its last owner had died, it had been in storage for a few decades. When it was sent to be restored shortly before the gallery owner acquired it, the restorers had found a strange chemical mixed with the paint that, combined with the normal heat and dampness of a home, when released into the air, caused severe lung damage to humans and lashran alike. The painting was now safe; it was put into a hermetically sealed glass box and would surely find a new owner soon who, this time, wouldn't die because of it.

Needless to say, Fyn was thrilled by this story. It was right up his alley, and although it was nowhere near the investigative journalism he loved, it made for a wonderful and interesting article. Mr. Solir had also taken a few nice shots of the artwork, making it look mysterious and sinister despite its motif of two children in a sunny landscape.

Since the lifebearer knew that this article would practically write itself, he decided not to head straight back to the "Valkyrie Times".

"Why don't we get lunch?" he asked Solir with a smile. "Let's celebrate our first piece of work together. There's a nice bistro right over there."

"Of course, sir," the sire agreed and parked the car. In fact, he had been doing what he was told without so much as a few words in response, so far. And although Fyn was glad not to have someone with him with whom he was constantly arguing, Eondar Solir was starting to seem a bit like a butler - or a bodyguard. Especially with that habit of his of calling Fyn "sir". It was indeed nice to be addressed respectfully, but it was starting to become annoying.

A few minutes later, they had sat down at one of the little tables at the bistro and were studying the menu. Or rather, Fyn had decided quickly and now studied the sire sitting opposite him. He still hadn't figured out what was going on behind the steel wall of Solir's eyes. Was it a trauma from the things that had happened back at Azirus? Or had the sire always been like this? Fyn couldn't even begin to guess.

A smiling waitress came over to their table a moment later to take their orders, and now Fyn had no menu card to hide his curious looks. So he decided to take a direct approach.

"I think I told you before, but you really don't have to address me so formally. I mean, we just met yesterday, but usually we're on a first name basis with each other at the "Times". Well, except for Celia, but she calls me ‘Mr. Sheldon' to make a point that she sees me as her boss."

"So do I," the photographer answered. "But if it really bothers you, I'll drop the ‘sir'."

"Thanks." Fyn smiled. "Now would you mind telling me a bit about yourself? It's an occupational disease to be curious, I'm afraid."

"There's not much to tell," the sire answered. "You can read my résumé, it's no secret. I grew up here in Valkyrie Falls, finished college, worked as a fashion photographer for a while and then began my career as a photo journalist, traveling abroad."

"So you always wanted to be a photographer?" Fyn asked.

Solir nodded. "Yes. I wanted to show people how things really look." An undefined emotion flashed in his eyes. Humor? "I think you know the feeling."

"Yes, I do." Fyn leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I guess we're both one of those silly types who dares to search for the truth. Well, what about your family? If you're Mr. McKenzie's brother-in-law…"

"Jordan is bonded to my brother," the sire clarified.

"Oh? Is he younger or older than you? And do you have any more siblings?"

"Telias is my only sibling, a lot younger than me. I remember how I reacted when he told me about Jordan. I thought he had been so unfortunate as to fall in love with someone who's going to die soon."

Fyn remembered that he had thought his new editor-in-chief to be a human as well at first. But McKenzie was actually a lashran sire with a human parent. The comment about unfortunate love, however, made him pause. There it was been again. Just a flicker of something behind those eyes…

"I have a lot of human ancestors as well," he decided to share something in return. "My dad's mother was a human. And my sire has a human grandmother as well, I think." Fyn didn't bother to disclose the fact that he wasn't blood-related to his sire. Fyn had practically adopted private investigator Sheldon as his sire from the moment he had met him. All memories of his real sire were hazy and best forgotten. Fyn knew that his blood-sire's family was extremely wealthy and influential, but his father had kept him away from them ever since Fyn had been five years old. And Fyn had never wanted to find out more despite his boundless curiosity. He had his parents, who loved him, and that was enough.

"And do you have a bondmate or a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? Kids?" Fyn continued to pry. Finally he had gotten the sire talking.

"Not anymore." The deep voice sounded a bit chilly.

Fyn couldn't help himself. "What happened?"

"I knew you wouldn't give up." The sire hesitated for a moment before he looked directly into Fyn's eyes. "I had a serious relationship with one of the models back when I was doing fashion shoots. He and I were about to bond. He died in a plane crash, a few weeks pregnant with our child."

Damn, Fyn could kick himself. "I'm so sorry! I really didn't mean to pry. It's a really bad habit," he hastily apologized, feeling an embarrassed blush creep up his cheeks. "And you needn't have to felt obligated to answer all those personal questions. I just wanted to get to know you better…I'm so sorry for being tactless."

"No need to. It's your job." Strangely enough, Eondar Solir didn't seem to be offended. "And now you do know me better."

"Well, I guess so," the lifebearer agreed. "And I meant it, I'm truly sorry. This must have been horrible. The only people close to me are my parents, but even the thought of something happening to them is terrible for me."

"It was a long time ago. And I'm glad to have my family as well." There was still direct eye contact between them, and strangely enough, Fyn started to notice some more subtle changes in those steely eyes. They didn't belong to a cold person, he now knew, just a very cautious one.

Before Fyn could reply anything, their meal arrived, and it was a good distraction from their conversation for a while. He still felt uncomfortable for being so forward despite Solir's attitude.

 

They finished lunch in silence, but when they walked back to the car, the lifebearer had made up his mind. "I have no idea if you even want to know anything about me, but it would be only fair," he said. "I'm an only child, never had a serious relationship, and the limp is the result of me falling down some stairs when I was a little kid. I wanted to be a private investigator like my sire, a police officer or even an Ulvari agent, but I couldn't meet the physical requirements, so I decided on journalism." Not really sure what to expect, Fyn looked up to the photographer's face and caught himself holding his breath. It was really difficult to see any reaction since the sire was a whole foot taller than he was, so he had to rely on a verbal answer. Sitting in front of each other had been far easier.

Solir looked down at him in a way that wasn't really ‘looking down'. Fyn, always quick with words, had no real word to describe it. "Thanks for telling me, Mr. Sheldon. I wouldn't have asked, but I wanted to know more about you as well."

"Oh, stop that. Call me Fyn, please," the lifebearer answered with a relieved sigh. "And don't hesitate to ask anything. I never stop talking anyway," he added, now grinning.

"Then please call me Eondar," the photographer replied, the first real smile playing about his lips. It was incredible what a difference it made in his brooding face.

Fyn now officially had to admit that his new partner was very handsome.

 

The next days passed uneventfully. Fyn and Eondar went to the concert of a famous violinist, securing an exclusive interview, and a fashion show hosted by one of the top labels of the city. Coincidence had it that the designer still remembered Eondar back from his days as a fashion photographer, and another exclusive was the result.

Fyn had stopped prying for the time being, but, as usual, never stopped talking. Soon, Eondar knew all about the political and social scandals the journalist had uncovered, his favorite books, movies, and music - practically anything. Strangely enough, he seemed to actually enjoy the lifebearer's incessant talking and listened closely.

One morning, however, the photographer looked under the weather. Fyn had just made some coffee for both of them while they had sorted through some photos and noticed that the sire wasn't listening. He just sat there drooping, his eyes not focusing properly.

"Hey, are you okay? You look tired," Fyn asked concerned and gave Eondar a fresh cup of coffee.

"Sorry, sleeping problems," the photographer murmured and took a sip.

"Just tonight?"

Eondar was already used to the inquisition and had stopped trying to hold anything back. "Actually, the whole week. My therapist thinks me being back at the job reminds me of… bad things. But it's not that; I love what I do."

Fyn smiled. "Just give it time. I'm sure your brother-in-law is okay with you taking a day off or so - after the big event we're covering tomorrow, mind you. I need you there."

"No time to sleep; I have to search for an apartment." In a truly tired fashion, Eondar rubbed his eyes. "I've been living with Telias, Jordan, and their kids ever since I got back. Problem is, I don't just have trouble sleeping… I wake up screaming several times a night. Telias, as worried as he is, told me he couldn't tolerate it anymore since I wake the kids and scare them. Twins, just two years old. I don't want them to be afraid of their uncle."

"Oh damn. I'm sorry." Fyn gently patted Eondar's arm. Leaning back against the desk, he stared at the opposite wall, thinking. Then he had an idea. "Listen, it's not an easy task finding a good apartment in this city, and certainly not in two days time. Living in a hotel isn't fun either, since I know your salary - Sorry," he added. "You know what I mean. What I'm proposing… why don't you come live with me for a while? I have a spare room. Okay, it's full of books, but you can close the door behind you. Just until you find a suitable new home."

The sire looked up at Fyn; him sitting and the lifebearer standing was the only configuration that allowed for that. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. See, you're no good to me in this condition. And although I don't like my current assignment, I want to do it as well as possible nevertheless, and that includes you taking your brilliant pictures." Fyn tried to look stern, but he failed as always. "So don't you think I'm just a pushover for that sad face of yours."

Now Eondar had to smile. "Don't worry. And if it's really okay with you, I'll gladly take you up on your offer. But, just for a while, and I'll do the cooking. I learned a great deal of recipes from all over Wyndrah."

Fyn grinned. "See? It was a purely selfish offer on my account to get my own personal chef. I can only burn water."

In truth, Fyn hadn't been sure if it had been right to offer the sire a temporary abode. He was used to living alone, and he had only known the photographer for a week. But he was also not the type to let people down who needed him. For all his big talk, Fyn had a very big soft spot when it came to helping others.

 

Two days later, Eondar moved in with Fyn. The lifebearer had cleaned up the spare room as much as possible. It had a sleeper sofa in it for guests, but so far it hadn't been used. After all, all of Fyn's friends and family lived close by.

Speaking of friends…

"Oh damn!" the lifebearer grumbled when he caught a glimpse of the clock while he was helping his new room-mate get settled in. "I completely forgot that shopping date with Kalish! He'll be here in a few minutes."

"Just go with him. I can unpack on my own," Eondar answered calmly. He already knew all about Kalish Norwell, Fyn's best friend from back in high school who was teaching Old Languages at the college and, according to Fyn, had the most overbearing sire in history for a boyfriend.

"Well, okay. If you're hungry, the fridge is stocked. Just help yourself," the lifebearer said. "Oh, and if Mrs. Nigel from the apartment across the hall knocks, please help her with anything she might need."

"So you are a pushover for little old ladies, then?" Eondar's eyes glittered briefly. Fyn noticed that his mood had improved drastically since their new living arrangement had been decided.

Fyn waved it aside. "Who isn't? I even walk that tiny dog of hers sometimes ‘cause she's an walking is even harder for than it is for me. But be careful if she sends you out with Cupcake. The little monster loves to start fights with dogs twice her size."

Eondar just nodded. He already knew that Fyn had had a dog as a child, but his job left him far too little time to care for one now.

The door bell rang seconds later, and the journalist went to the door to open it.

"Hey, Fynnie!" Kalish grabbed his best friend for a huge hug. "Sorry, I'm late. Ready to go on a shopping frenzy?" He wasn't that tall for a lifebearer, but a head taller than Fyn nevertheless. Truth be told, Fyn had always envied his best friend: Kalish was graceful and well-built, could dance like a god, and his face was all but wasted on some college students and should be on a glossy cover somewhere: truly classical features, timeless and elegant, with golden skin and framed by long hair in at least three shades of red that stayed the way it had been styled. Fyn had never understood how that worked since his own hair went in all directions despite his efforts to tame it.

"Oh, and who's this? Fynnie, you sly dog, why didn't you tell me?" Obviously, Kalish had spied Eondar coming from the spare room.

"Kalish Norwell, meet Eondar Solir. He's the new photographer, and he's staying here until he can find a decent apartment," Fyn introduced them to each other with a warning look toward his best friend.

Kalish shook hands with Eondar. "Nice to meet you. Say, why don't you join us? We could use a strong sire to carry our bags and to give his opinion. As a photographer, you should have an eye for details - in contrast to most sires and men."

"Maybe next time," Fyn interjected. "Eondar still has a lot of unpacking to do." He really wanted to spare the sire this; Kalish was the most undecided shopper on Wyndrah. With difficulty, he managed to usher Kalish out the door, grabbed his keys and followed him.

His friend laughed. "Wow, you're jealous! I'm taken, you know, so don't worry."

Fyn rolled his eyes. "As I said, he's a colleague, and we might become friends. That's it. I wanted to spare him the agony of shopping with you. It's bad enough that I have to endure it."

"Aw, come on!" Kalish pushed the door of the building open, and they went out onto the street. "I'm not so bad. And we could find you something nice for a change."

Fyn narrowed his eyes. "If you're trying to force lace and leather on me, forget it! I like my stuff." Fyn had to admit that his usual attire of simple slacks or jeans, shirts and pullovers were neither the height of fashion nor very flattering, but they were sensible and didn't look silly on him in contrast to most other things lifebearers loved to wear. Kalish, for example, was wearing a beautiful flowing shirt in a shade of red that matched his hair, tight black pants and high boots that both accentuated the shape of his legs. Fyn, on the other hand, would have looked like a kid playing dress up with his dad's wardrobe or like a pedophile's wet dream in those clothes. He had tried it and would never again, thank you very much.

"There must be something that you'd like to wear that isn't so drab," Kalish didn't give up. "Give your tall, dark, and handsome at home something to look at."

"Kalish, would you cut it out?" Fyn growled. "That's not funny. That sire just came from one of the darkest corners on this planet and has seen a lot of horrible stuff, so he for sure has other worries than checking me out. Not that I want him to anyway."

Kalish just shrugged and let it go for the moment. As they walked the short distance to Kalish's car, Fyn couldn't help but wonder. What did Eondar see when he looked at Fyn, especially in direct comparison to a beauty like Kalish? All that gentle politeness… was it just pity? Did Eondar see him as a person equal to himself at all, or was his attitude just the patience of an adult tolerating a very annoying kid?

No, the journalist had seen the honesty in Eondar's eyes, and the sire did like him. He just wasn't attracted to him in the slightest - not that Fyn wanted him to be.

It was never happening anyway.

 

To be continued...


	3. In which Fyn loses his balance and finds some truth

Chapter 3

Fyn and Kalish tiredly returned from their shopping trip a few hours later, loaded with bags. As usual, Kalish hadn’t been able to decide on a single thing, which was the main reason for him dragging Fyn along anyway. The journalist had excellent taste when it came to other people’s clothes, so it was his job to make the decisions. Kalish had also persuaded him to buy something as well: a nicely-cut three-piece suit in a shade of green that matched Fyn’s eyes. It actually didn’t make him look like a choir boy like suits usually did, so he had decided to get it.

Kalish let Fyn out of the car in front of his apartment building. “And don’t you dare to start a romance with that photographer of yours and not tell me!” Before Fyn could reply, Kalish just grinned and drove off.

Sighing, the journalist went up to his apartment. As soon as he opened the door, a wonderful, spicy smell wafted up his nose. Fyn put down his shopping bags and went into the kitchen to find the source of that delicious scent. There, he was greeted with quite a sight: Eondar bustled around amidst various pans and pots, wearing Fyn’s pink kitchen apron. It was a silly thing, all ruffles and bows, a joke-gift from Kalish for one of Fyn’s birthdays.

“Welcome back,” the photographer greeted him with a slight smile. “You’re right on time. Ocathian fruit chicken will be ready in a minute.”

“Uh, nice. I’ll… set the table.” Fyn grabbed some dishes from the cupboard and fled the kitchen. As hilarious as someone like Eondar in a pink apron was… for a split second Fyn had felt like he was in some strange parallel universe where his bond mate waited for him with dinner when he came home. The lifebearer shook his head in confusion. What was he thinking? This was a temporary arrangement, and Eondar was just paying him back a little by cooking. So what?

A few moments later, Eondar emerged from the kitchen. Thankfully, he had taken off the silly apron. “I hope you like it,” he said as he put down a bowl of rice and a big pan. It was filled with pieces of chicken, vegetables, fruit, and a sauce that was the source of the amazing smell.

“I love Ocathian food,” Fyn answered. “Sadly, there are no restaurants in the city who serve really good Ocathian food. I had a chance to try the buffet when the Ocathian ambassador was in town. The man had the good sense to bring his own cook with him. But this smells even better.”

Eondar’s smile broadened.

 

The food was indeed great. The lifebearer ate as much as he could and then even a little bit more until he felt like a stuffed chicken himself. He and his new room-mate cleaned up the kitchen together and then decided to call it a night since both were exhausted for various reasons.

 

Sometime during the night, Fyn woke up. The chicken had been rather spicy, and he got up to get himself a glass of water. He was about to return to his bedroom when a sound from Eondar’s room drew his attention. Fyn hesitated for a moment, but then he gently knocked on the door. “Eondar, are you okay?”

There was another noise, one sounding like someone in pain. Fyn just opened the door and peeked in. “Eondar?”

With a gasp, the sire sat up straight, staring into the twilight of the room. His eyes were wide in the dark, the slit pupils so dilated that they seemed to be round, just like a cat’s at night.

“I’m sorry, it sounded like you were having a nightmare again, “ Fyn whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Eondar took a few deep breaths and smoothed his mussed hair back from his forehead. “No, it’s okay. I’m the one who has to apologize for the noise.”

“I was awake anyway.” Fyn hovered at the door, unsure what to do. “So… you wanna talk about it? Maybe it’ll help.”

“I don’t know,” the sire answered softly. “I won’t be getting back to sleep anytime soon. But you should get your rest.”

“Nonsense.” Fyn waved the objection aside. “I’ll make us hot milk with cinnamon,” he declared. “That’s something I can do without burning it, by the way. You open the window and get yourself some fresh air.”

A few minutes later, the journalist returned with two steaming mugs. Eondar stood at the open window, the mild summer breeze playing with the curtains. Fyn hadn’t seen it before, but Eondar was only wearing a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. The night lights of the city reflected on his toned, smooth chest that glittered with perspiration.

Fyn caught himself staring and cleared his throat. Forests, he was one frustrated, pathetic lashran. That poor man was going through the gods only knew what, and he had nothing better to do than ogle him!

“Hey, here’s your milk,” he said. “And you might want to put on a shirt. The night air’s warm, but if you catch a cold… sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a concerned parent,” Fyn added when he noticed how silly he sounded.

“No, you’re right.” The sire grabbed a t-shirt from the shelf and pulled it on before he took the mug from Fyn. “I’m used to a far warmer climate.”

They both drank a few sips and then sat down on Eondar’s bed. Fyn kept himself from prying again; the photographer had to do this on his own.

“I’ve been having bad dreams for years,” Eondar finally told him. “First, they were about my fiancé, after the accident. Later, after I’d seen some terrible things out there in the world, it was about them: starving children, victims of civil wars… and in all these dreams the most horrible thing was me being totally helpless. All I ever did was watch.” He paused. “I don’t know why this scares me. It’s my job to watch.”

“You’re doing far more than that,” Fyn reminded him. “You bring those grievances to the attention of those who can really make a difference. You couldn’t ease everybody’s suffering on your own even if you tried.”

“Yes, I know. I never said that those dreams make sense. Anyway, after my… colleague’s death it got even worse. I was getting just two or three hours of sleep each night. That’s when I decided to quit and return home. The nightmares stopped, strangely enough, almost immediately.”

“Then maybe it really does have something to do with your job, like your therapist says,” Fyn mused. “Perhaps you need more time? I won’t find a photographer as good as you anytime soon, but your health should be the priority here.”

Eondar shook his head. “It’s not that. I did some odd job photo shoots before I started to work at the “Valkyrie Times”, and I had no nightmares afterwards.”

“Then it has to be my coffee,” the lifebearer joked lamely, but regretted it immediately. “Sorry, this isn’t funny. I wish I could help you somehow.”

“Maybe i really do need more time,” Eondar answered and took another sip of his milk. “But you don’t have to look after me every night.”

Fyn smiled. “Why not? I’m a light sleeper anyway. And I know from experience that talking about it, some cinnamon-flavoured milk, and fresh air do wonders.”

Eondar just looked at him. As usual, he never asked, just waited for Fyn to continue.

“I had some nasty nightmares as a kid,” the lifebearer admitted. “I can’t really remember if there was an actual reason for it, just the fear itself. My dad always came to comfort me. He made me tell him the dream to get it out of my head, then we let it out of the window. After that, I drank my milk. Dad always said that it was a special medicine against nightmares.” Fyn smiled at the memory. “I know now that it’s just a good psychological trick, but it surely worked on me as a kid.”

“Then maybe it’s going to help me as well,” Eondar said, emptying his cup. “Thanks, Fyn.”

“No problem.” The journalist also drank his last few sips of milk. “Give me your mug; I’ll bring them back to the kitchen.” He took the empty mug from Eondar and was about to stand up, but since the sleeper sofa was far lower than a normal bed or a chair, he needed a bit more momentum. Hence, Fyn’s right leg decided to buckle at that precise moment, and with an undignified yelp, Fyn crashed back on the bed - right on top of Eondar.

“Sorry!” Fyn had somehow managed to keep hold of the mugs, but those prevented him from pushing himself back up again. Eondar, however, caught him around the waist and gently pushed him into a sitting position, right between his legs. No concerned comment, no offer to help came, and for a few moments, Fyn simply enjoyed the warm hands around his waist and the broad chest against his back. He usually wasn’t fond of getting help without having asked for it, but it was different with Eondar. The sire only intervened when Fyn clearly couldn’t manage on his own or was about to hurt himself.

And instead of helping Fyn any further, Eondar simply took the mugs from him to give the lifebearer better leverage to stand up. As soon as Fyn was firmly back on his feet, the photographer handed him the mugs without a comment. “Thanks,” Fyn mumbled, glad for the semi-darkness of the room. Forests, he was blushing again! “Good night.”

He felt Eondar’s gaze follow him out of the room.

 

The next several days passed without any extraordinary events. Fyn brought Eondar hot milk every time the sire woke from a nightmare, and it got better bit by bit. The next Friday night, Eondar slept through the night for the first time in weeks. He also continued to look for an apartment, but nothing really suited his needs. And the lifebearer caught himself looking disappointed whenever the sire marked some possibilities on the newspaper's residential market page. Living together with Eondar was something he had adjusted to surprisingly quickly. Although it did nothing for his nerves to catch his room-mate emerging from their bathroom shirtless and still wet from a shower every morning, the man was really great company and could cook like a five-star-chef.

Then Monday morning came with something unexpected.

"Mr. Sheldon, here are the events for the upcoming week." Celia put a list on Fyn's desk with a smile. "And we got a call from Mrs. Myers; her little daughter is sick, and she won't be able to cover the celebrity gossip column today. She asked if you can fill in for her, this one time, and since it fit your timetable, I put the event on the list - if that's okay."

"Of course," Fyn answered. "And why don't you come with me, Celia? It's high time you did some field work."

The girl beamed at him. "That would be great! What about Eondar?"

"He got a call on his cell phone half an hour ago and went out to take it." Fyn checked his watch with a frown. "It's not like him to chat that long."

"I'll look for him," Celia announced and bustled out. "The event's this afternoon."

After she was gone, Fyn took up the list with a sigh. There it was - he was doing a silly celebrity report just like he had dreaded.

The mentioned event was at the Holden hotel downtown. The hotel chain owner, Othric Holden, wanted to present his fiancé to the public. So far, there had been no hint as to the identity of his betrothed, and it was anticipated with much speculation. To Fyn, having no interest in that kind of stuff, it was all new, and he started to look up some of the rumours on the internet to be prepared. But he would most likely allow Celia to write the short article. He knew that she loved celebrity gossip. And the name Holden made him a bit uncomfortable, to be honest.

The journalist had never really cared about the things that had happened between his father and the Holdens. There was a hazy memory about a big, beautiful house where he wasn't allowed to touch anything and a tall, blonde sire with eyes like glaciers. When Fyn had been old enough to understand, his father had told him that a man named Aravin Holden was his real sire, a heartless guy who had treated Fyn and his father badly. The lifebearer had accepted this, knowing that his dad would never lie to him. And there was Sheldon anyway whom he had taken on as his sire.

But, now, Fyn was forced to bring himself up to date with the state of the Holden family and reluctantly started to browse through various news reports from past years in the "Valkyrie Times"' digital database. Aravin Holden had been banned to the Nandar branch of the hotel chain about thirty years ago by his brother due to some shady business and had never returned to Avras. Eight years ago, he had been killed in an earthquake there.

Fyn stared at Aravin's picture on his screen. He clearly remembered that face and those colorless eyes, and it made him shudder. He didn't feel sorry for never meeting that man again, and, as nasty as it was to think like this, he felt glad that Aravin was dead. Taking some deep breaths, the lifebearer went on reading about the sorry lot that was left of the once-proud Holden clan.

Othric had a son, Sylair, who had been accused of kidnapping and attempted murder in two cases around the same time Aravin had been caught doing illegal things. Sylair had been declared certifiably insane and was put into a closed mental hospital. About a year ago, he had been released, but had left the country immediately. There was no information about his current whereabouts.

The journalist involuntarily gasped as a picture of Sylair Holden appeared on his screen. He knew that face, too! And it made him feel cold and sick, even more than Aravin's picture. But why? His parents had never mentioned Sylair, just Aravin.

Fyn took a few deep breaths and tried to concentrate. Sylair Holden was a beautiful lifebearer with a sweet face, stunning baby-blue eyes and wavy caramel-brown hair. The picture had been taken during the trial, and there was an undeniable glint of madness and burning hatred in those seemingly innocent eyes. Fyn had never seen anyone who looked this pretty also look this evil.

By now, his journalist instincts had started to take over. Fyn realized that he had to know right now why looking at Sylair Holden scared him like this. He couldn't put this on the back burner, and there was still time until he, Celia, and Eondar had to go to that event at the hotel. With feverish haste, the lifebearer began his research about anything connecting him to Sylair.

He didn't have to search for long. Although it wasn't in the official archive, the database also held information that the newspaper had gathered, but then had been forbidden to print for security reasons. There, Fyn found a detailed report about Sylair's crimes - and once again, gasped in shock. The two people he had tried to kill were two lashran named Sheldon and Cerise, and the person kidnapped had been Cerise's son, a four-year old lifebearer named Fyn.

"Mr. Sheldon?" Without warning, Celia barged in. "Eondar just left. There was some emergency concerning a friend, as far as I understood. He said he'll be back on time." She stopped as she saw the look of horror on her superior's face. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you!"

Fyn finally remembered to breathe. "It's… it's okay. I just… no, it's alright. I think I'll take an early lunch break."

Celia nodded and closed the door behind her.

"Forests," Fyn whispered, once again staring at Sylair Holden's picture. That man had kidnapped him! Now the nightmares he had as a kid finally made sense, but he was glad to have forgotten any conscious memories about it. But why? What had happened back then?

The journalist grabbed his phone. There were two people who surely had some answers for him, and he needed them now.

 

Half an hour later, Fyn stood in front of his parents' door. After his brief call, his sire has asked him to come over so they could talk. This wasn't something to be discussed over the phone.

Private investigator Sheldon was an impressive-looking sire with dark hair and eyes, and although he wasn't really a tall person, he had a presence of authority around him. He smiled at his son as he opened the door. "Come in."

They went to the living-room, and before Fyn could say anything, his father had jumped up from the couch, rushed toward him and embraced him fiercely. "Oh forests, I'm so sorry!"

"Dad?" Fyn patted his father on the back, a bit confused. "I'm sorry if this is stirring up some bad memories, but when I stumbled across some information about the Holdens, I just had to know the whole truth."

"We debated on telling you," Sheldon said quietly, looking at his son with serious eyes. "But aside from those nightmares, you practically forgot everything that had happened after a while. And later, when you were older, we just agreed to tell you if you ever asked. But you didn't until now, so we decided to let things be."

"We just wanted to protect you," Cerise whispered, his voice teary. He still hadn't let go of his son. "Sylair was locked away, and Aravin was disgraced. We thought it was all over forever."

"It is over, love," Sheldon corrected his mate. "And because of that, we can sit down and talk about it. Come on, let go of Fyn before he turns blue in the face."

Cerise loosened his grip and smiled sheepishly at his son, turquoise eyes bright with tears. Even now, Fyn couldn't help but think of his father as the most beautiful lifebearer he had ever seen. The journalist had inherited the platinum blonde locks and delicate features of his father, but Cerise had a refined, elegant aura around him despite his also very youthful appearance. Simply put, he looked like an angel out of old human churches. "Sorry, sweetheart. Let's sit down."

Sheldon fetched them all a cup of coffee, and then, he and his mate began to tell Fyn the whole story - starting from Cerise trapped in a contract at a brothel to pay his sire's debt to the showdown in the warehouse where Sylair and his crony, the gangster Malrone got captured, and finally Sheldon's theory on the mad lifebearer's motives.

All the while, Cerise kept his arm around his son like he was still a child and Fyn was thankful for it. Although there was a happy ending, the events leading to it were simply horrible. Unconsciously, the lifebearer rubbed at his right lower leg. Now he knew that he was marked for life not due to a simple, tragic accident but due to Aravin Holden trying to beat up his father and him getting caught in the middle as a toddler.

"But there is something else," Sheldon added after a while. "It's just a theory of mine, and since none of the people involved ever gave a statement, it's still guesswork. Aravin had ordered a paternity test, and it turned out negative. But there might be a possibility that Othric is your real sire. Since he is the last Holden left and you might meet him in person, I thought you might want to know. But there's no proof whatsoever."

Fyn shook his head. "I don't care. You are my sire. And after all I've heard, I pray to the forests that I will never meet one of those blasted Holdens. I'll go there for my report, and then I'll forget about them forever."

Cerise drew his son closer to him. "That might be for the best. But I'm so sorry for all that has happened, sweetie."

"Dad, it's not your fault. You did all you could to protect me," Fyn answered softly. Now he couldn't hold back the tears any longer. "I love you both so much. Please don't blame yourself for anything."

Cerise just held him close, and after a moment, Sheldon sat down beside them and hugged Fyn from the other side. The lifebearer curled up against his parents, and, safely sheltered between them, cried like a little child.

 

Celia was clearly worried when Fyn returned to the "Times" about an hour later, looking fragile and with red blotches under his eyes. No amount of cold washrags had been able to erase all the traces of his crying fit from his pale skin.

"Mr. Sheldon, are you okay? Can I do anything for you?" the girl asked as he slowly went to his office. "Maybe you should take the day off?"

"I'm okay, Celia." The lifebearer gave her a reassuring smile, thankful for her honest sympathy. "Please don't worry. Has Eondar come back yet?"

"He called and said he'd meet us at the hotel. Today must be jinxed," the girl stated. "Whatever happened, it must have been serious. And now you…"

"Let's hope he'll be there on time, but you better get a camera in case he can't make it," the journalist told her. "And there is something you can do, on second thought… could I borrow some of your makeup, Celia? I can't go on a job looking like this."

She understood immediately. "Of course! Good thing we have the same skin tone. I couldn't help you if you had that golden lashran skin."

"I think that is the first time I’ve gotten a compliment for my pale complexion," Fyn stated and couldn't help but grin. "I don't know what I will do once your internship is finished."

"You just have to put in a good word for me with the boss, Mr. Sheldon," the girl answered with a big smile and then ran off to fetch the needed items.

To be continued…


	4. In which Fyn loses patience and finds someone unexpected

Fyn and Celia got to the hotel on time. The press conference would take place in the big ballroom in which all the reporters could fit. Valkyrie Falls and other big cities in Avras had lots of tabloid magazines who had sent their reporters, but a lot of serious newspapers like the "Valkyrie Times" also sent their people since Othric Holden was one of the richest men in the country.

Celia craned her neck to look for Eondar since she was a bit taller than Fyn in her heels. The press conference would start in a just a few minutes, and neither of the two could imagine that the sire would let them down. Finally, she spotted Eondar's tall frame and waved to catch his attention. The photographer made his way over to them. Fyn noted immediately that Eondar looked somehow shaken although he tried to hide it behind his usual, stern expression. But there was no time for it now; he would ask later what exactly had happened. The important thing was that the sire had his camera with him.

The side doors opened, and a lashran couple entered. Celia muffled a squeal. "Oh, he's beautiful!"

Fyn just gaped. Othric Holden was a tall, good-looking sire with short silver hair framing his strong face. He was wearing an expensive steel-gray suit and slightly tinted glasses, but that wasn't what shocked him. It was the lifebearer at his side, smiling and indeed very beautiful. It was Kalish.

The flashlights of dozens of cameras went off as they stood in front of the journalists. Othric waited for a moment, then he started to speak. He had a pleasant yet commanding voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming. I'd like to introduce you to my fiancé, Kalish Norwell. We've been dating for two years, and now we’ve decided to take the next step. The bonding ceremony will be in three months."

As soon as he had finished, several reporters shouted questions, mostly at Kalish. The lifebearer smiled and answered.

A nudge from Celia brought Fyn back to reality. She was madly scribbling into her notebook. "Mr. Sheldon, shouldn't we ask something as well?"

"No. In fact, we'll be getting a private interview," Fyn declared. Now that he was over his initial surprise, anger took over. How on Wyndrah could Kalish have kept that from him? Sure, Fyn had never met Kalish's boyfriend "Rick" in all the time they had been dating due to the sire's tight time schedule, but from what Kalish had told him, the man had seemed extremely controlling and jealous. Fyn had always expected that Kalish would come to his senses, not bond to the guy! And now it turned out that the mysterious boyfriend was Othric Holden, of all people!

Fyn gritted his teeth. Best friend or not, Kalish was about to get his ass kicked.

 

The lifebearer let Celia and Eondar do the work, and when the press conference was over, he just pulled out his cell phone and typed a message. "Let's go get some coffee," he simply said and left. His companions had no choice but to follow him into the hotel bar. It was an elegant, quite place, and Fyn let himself fall into one of the overstuffed leather seats. His face promised murder.

"So what was all that about a private interview?" Celia asked cautiously. "Do you know Mr. Norwell from somewhere?"

When the journalist didn't answer, Eondar told the girl, "They're friends." And with a side glance to Fyn he added, "Apparently, this announcement was kept secret even from those closest to Mr. Norwell."

"Oh!" The girl bit her lip and turned her gaze worriedly to her superior. "That's… well…"

"Fynnie! Oh gods, if I had known you were gonna be here today…" A crimson whirlwind stormed into the hotel bar seconds later, but stopped abruptly in front of Fyn.

The journalist looked up at him. "Then what? Give me a warning? 'Oh, by the way, I'm engaged, and my fiancé - who is a hotel tycoon, by the way - will announce it publicly.' Apparently it's not necessary to tell this to your best friend at all," he stated icily.

"I'm so sorry! I really wanted to tell you when Rick proposed to me a few days ago, but since you're a journalist, he was worried that this would get out to the public too soon," Kalish answered with a pleading tone in his voice.

"Oh, that explains everything." Fyn got up from his seat, cursing his leg as he struggled for a moment to push himself up from the soft surface. His pastel green eyes glared daggers at his best friend. "Damn it, we've been friends since forever, and I never betrayed your confidence, Kalish! But apparently it's more important to you now what some rich guy in a fancy suit orders you to do!"

Kalish shook his head, glorious hair flying wildly. "It's not like that. We…"

Fyn interrupted him. "You know what? I don't care. Let's talk when I'm not so mad at you I want to wring your neck." Then he just walked out.

Celia was too shocked to do anything, but Eondar quickly got up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Norwell. He really didn't mean that," he said. "But I can understand his surprise."

Kalish looked up at him helplessly. "And I thought he would be happy for me…" A sob escaped him.

"He will be, in time," Eondar promised. "Don't be upset." He gestured toward Celia. "This is Celia Warren, our intern. She's writing the article."

The girl smiled. "Pleased to meet you. I'm sorry for all this, but I'm also sure Mr. Sheldon will calm down soon. Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?"

Kalish wiped his eyes. "That would be nice. And if you want to know anything, I'd be happy to tell you."

As the lifebearer sat down, Eondar excused himself to go after Fyn. He knew that Celia's sweet nature would help calm down Kalish, but he didn't want to let his partner stew in his anger on his own. He understood how disappointed Fyn must have been.

 

There were no words to describe how Fyn felt. All the revelations from before had left him somehow raw and fragile inside, and now this… and why on Wyndrah did it have to be Othric Holden of all sires?

In his anger, the journalist didn't really look where he was going as he stormed through the hotel. He was lucid enough to know that going back to his office like this wasn't a good idea and that he had to wait for Celia and Eondar. But he needed a moment alone. However, Fyn didn't really watch his step, and at the corner of a corridor he unceremoniously bumped into another person. Or, more accurately, he bounced back from a solid chest and landed on his rear.

"Damn it, watch where you're going!" Fyn cursed and raised his head to see what idiot had been in his way.

It was Othric Holden. Just perfect.

"I'm sorry, but you came out of nowhere." Othric held out his hand to help the lifebearer up, but Fyn ignored it and stood up by himself, albeit very slowly. Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at the sire.

"No, you did, sir. You even had the gall to forbid Kalish to tell his best friend about the engagement! Are we living in Nandar or back in the old times when lifebearers were treated like slaves?"

Othric raised an eyebrow. "Then you must be Fyn. Kalish told me a lot about you. I'm sorry if this was inconvenient for you, but I had certain obligations…"

"Inconvenient?" Fyn couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "Was it also inconvenient for you to meet me sometime during the last two years? Kalish also told me a lot about you, and I didn't like it. But as long as he was happy, I was willing to forget it. But now…" The journalist took a few steps toward Othric in a menacing manner. "Me and my family have had enough bullshit from you Holdens, and I won't tolerate anymore. If you ever so much as look at Kalish the wrong way, I swear to the forests that I will kick your ass! I have been training in martial arts since I was a kid!"

Othric frowned. "Pardon me, but I don't like being threatened. You seem to be upset, so I'll let it go, but…" He stopped, his frown deepening as he looked down at Fyn. It took the journalist a moment to realize that the sire was actually studying his face.

"I'm afraid Kalish never mentioned your last name," Othric said. "Are you sure we’ve never met?"

"I would know," Fyn grumbled. "And my last name is Sheldon." As his anger slowly faded after yelling at the man in front of him, he finally started to understand what was going on. Othric Holden was clearly seeing something familiar in him.

Had Fyn's sire been right?

There was only one way to find out, and Fyn wasn't about to live in uncertainty if this man was really going to marry his best friend.

"My father and I lived with brother some decades ago," the lifebearer said. "Officially speaking, your brother Aravin was my sire."

Surprise lit up Othric's face, and he finally took off his shades. Now it was Fyn's turn to blink. He and the sire in front of him had the exact same eye color.

"I think it would be best if we talked somewhere more private. Would you join me in my office?"

Fyn hesitated for a moment, and then he nodded.

 

Othric's elegant office was on the top floor of the hotel, its big window showing a beautiful view over the city. But Fyn barely noticed it. All he wanted was to get this talk over with and return to his friends. Since his anger was mainly directed at Othric now, he’d already started to forgive Kalish. Their friendship was more important than a silly fight, and although Fyn still felt he had every right to be furious, he didn't want to risk losing his best friend.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" Othric Holden asked him.

The journalist declined. "Thanks, I'm good. Let's just talk."

The sire offered him a seat, and they both sat down opposite each other in nice, expensive armchairs with a little glass table between them.

"Mr. Sheldon, I'm sorry for your first impression of me, and I would have liked to meet you before," Othric began with a serious expression on his face. "Since you're Kalish's best friend, I wanted to be on your good side of course since Kalish wishes you to be his best man at the bonding ceremony. But you being an investigative journalist made me wary of you, to speak frankly. I've always tried to stay out of the papers except for very big occasions that not only affect my private life, but the future of the family business."

"I can understand that. But I've never betrayed a confidence, and I strictly differentiate between work and private life," Fyn answered as calmly as possible. "And Kalish has known me long enough to know that. You had absolutely no right to forbid him to tell me about the engagement."

"I didn't forbid him anything," the sire clarified with narrowed eyes. "I simply suggested it, and Kalish agreed after much hesitation. Whatever you might think, I'm not pushing him around or treat him like a child who's yet unable to make decisions. I'm simply concerned about my public image."

Fyn rolled his eyes. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? Listen, Mr. Holden, I don't care. All I care about is my best friend. Kalish is a wonderful person; he's kind, intelligent, and lively. And I wish him to stay that way. It doesn't matter how much he might love you, he'll wither away like a plant without sunlight if you try to change him in any way."

To his astonishment, Othric smiled. It made him look younger and less stern. "Those are the very things about Kalish that made me fall in love with him, and forests forbid I ever try to change him. But after everything my family's been through, you might understand that I have to be careful in rebuilding our family's reputation. The name Holden stood for integrity and honest work for thousands of years, and my brother and Sylair managed to ruin that in just a few weeks."

"Speaking of your family… there are some things I'd like to know as well." Fyn leaned forward and held Othric's gaze, as pastel green as his own. "But I guess you have questions as well."

"I do," the sire said. "Has there ever been any proof as to Aravin being your sire?"

"No. In fact, my father told me that Aravin had ordered a paternity test when I was a kid, and it turned out negative. But nobody ever spoke of it, and my birth certificate lists him as my sire. My last name, however, is Sheldon, since the man who raised me adopted me. I've never had any claim to the Holden name and I don't want it, if that's what you're asking." Fyn sighed. "I actually learned all that just a few hours ago. Until now, I didn't want to know the truth."

"And now?" Othric asked very quietly.

"Now I guess I don't have a choice. My sire - adoptive sire, I mean - had a theory about my biological sire, but I guess that's something only you can confirm. Mind you, I don't want any money, and I'm happy as things are. But… if you're bonding with Kalish, I have to know if… well… if we are related." Fyn hadn't really meant to blurt it out like this, but he was a direct person, and dancing around the subject was stupid.

Othric Holden was silent for a moment. "Now let me tell you something," he started. "And mind you, this is just between you and me. If Kalish trusts you, so will I - especially since I’ve now met you personally. Some decades ago, I separated from my mate. We had been happy for many years, or so I thought, but I then I discovered that he had been cheating on me. I was willing to forgive it because I loved him. Sylair was born, and it was clear that he wasn't my son. But I loved him very much and decided to make him my heir regardless. But when he grew up, I realized that his character was… twisted. Even if he had been my real son, I would have withdrawn his rights as my heir. As he learned of that, he drowned himself in glamour, parties, and scandals, desperate for attention. My mate finally decided to leave me. Not because of Sylair, but because of me behaving more and more distantly toward him. I guess we just grew apart. But when the divorce was finally through, I was depressed. There was just my brother Aravin left, who tried to cheer me up the best he could. So he sent me to an… establishment of debatable reputation that he frequented. It was the first and last time I ever set foot in such a place. However, there was a very lovely lifebearer with blond hair like yours, and I just wanted to forget everything that had happened for just a few hours. I banned that night from my mind, and I never really made the connection when Aravin told me that he had… well, bought himself a consort who was expecting his child. I never set foot in his house, and he kept his trophy to himself."

Fyn didn't realize that he had been holding his breath. "So it is… possible?"

Othric smiled softly. "It's not only possible, but the truth. I don't even need a DNA test to prove it. It's the same way I could tell right away that Sylair wasn't my son. Every firstborn child to one of our family members has light green eyes, without fail. Eyes like yours and mine. It's a lashran genetic oddity like that strangely colored hair you see sometimes, and it's been passed down from countless generations. You could have been Aravin's first-born child, but since the paternity test ruled that out…"

"That's…" The journalist didn't know what to say. He had already suspected it, but now… "So my sire's theory was completely right," he murmured. "He said that after the investigation back then, he had suspected Sylair was not a true Holden since he was so desperate to destroy the family and make himself the new heir."

Othric nodded, his eyes sad. "It was terrible, and I still blame myself for what happened. I should have seen it coming, but I just didn't want to believe him being capable of such hate."

"Well, that's in the past. The question is, what will happen now?" Fyn asked.

Othric shrugged, looking as lost as Fyn felt. "That is up to you. I understand that you don't want anything to do with my family, but I hope we can be friends, at least for Kalish's sake. And should he and I have kids, which I hope since otherwise the Holden family will die out, I want them to know they have an older brother."

"I guess… I can do that. I just don't want any trouble or obligations. And most importantly, I want to stay Fyn Sheldon." The lifebearer hesitantly smiled at the man in front of him. His real sire… it still felt strange to even think that.

"I can promise you that." The sire extended his hand. "And please call me Othric. I can't have Kalish's best friend call me ‘Mr. Holden'."

"Then please call me Fyn." The journalist took the offered hand and was finally able to give Othric Holden a real smile. "But I think we should tell Kalish. I don't like secrets between us."

"Of course. I'll talk to him, and I hope you two will reconcile quickly."

"I'm going down right now to talk to him," Fyn decided and got up from his chair - once again almost stumbling. "Damn!"

"Did you hurt yourself when you bumped into me?" Othric asked concerned and quickly grabbed Fyn's arm to steady him. "Should I call for a doctor?"

"I'm fine!" Fyn snapped and pulled away, his old instinct of violently rejecting any help or sympathy kicking in. "It's just my leg, as always."

Othric let go of him, a bit taken aback by the sudden hostility in Fyn's eyes. "Sorry. I was just concerned that I’d hurt you."

"No, your brother did that already," the lifebearer retorted, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. "I know you're not him, but as I said: I've had enough bullshit from your family. Here's your chance to do better than Aravin and Sylair."

Othric surprised him with an old-fashioned bow. "I will," he said, his voice solemn.

Fyn just hoped that he would keep that promise. He had to admit that he was somewhat starting to like the man, despite everything. And he wanted Kalish to be happy. But he didn't need any more confusion in his life. A question had been answered, but how many were still left open? Daring to find the truth always had its price.

 

On his way back to the hotel bistro, Fyn found Eondar searching for him. Thankfully, the photographer didn't ask any questions, just looked at him with genuinely worried eyes. Fyn managed a smile. "Let's get back to Kalish. I think I have to apologize for being nasty."

Eondar just nodded and accompanied him downstairs.

But Fyn didn't even get a chance for an apology. Kalish threw himself into his arms and cried like a kid, sobbing "I'm so sorry!" over and over again. It was rather like his father a few hours ago. And just like then, Fyn patted him on the back and murmured that everything was going to be alright. After Kalish had calmed down a bit, they sat down next to each other on a couch, arms around each others' shoulders.

"I talked to your boyfriend," Fyn finally said. "And after a bit of venting… well, I guess it's okay with me if you want to bond with him. And he promised not to keep important things from me from now on."

"Really? I'm so relieved!" Kalish beamed at him, his crying fit miraculously not having left any traces on his perfect face. "I hope you two will become friends. He's a good man, and I know he's the right one for me."

"We will," the journalist answered, smiling back at his friend. "And now… I guess we all need a drink."

No one objected.

 

As it turned out, one drink wasn't enough. Celia offered to take the article and the photos back to the "Valkyrie Times" office and excuse both Eondar and Fyn with the editor-in-chef. Eondar insisted on staying with his partner since he didn't want to leave him to get home on his own, and working was out of the question after this day.

Fyn and Kalish practically emptied the hotel bar's contents on their own in the next few hours. Eondar drank just a little bit for company despite both of them insisting that he just had to try this drink and that booze. Eventually, Kalish dozed off on one of the comfortable leather couches, and the barman promised to call Mr. Holden to get him. Eondar was amazed how sober Fyn still was. Apparently, he could hold his liquor despite his tiny frame. He wasn't even swaying on his way to the exit, although his limp was a bit more pronounced. Eondar already knew that this was actually a sign of stress.

The photographer hailed a taxi, and after a short ride, they arrived at Fyn's apartment. The lifebearer had been silent since they had left the hotel, but as soon as they had closed the apartment door behind them, he asked, "Do you think that Kalish is prettier than me?"

The sire was completely taken aback by that question. "What do you mean?"

"We've been living together for a while now." Fyn didn't look at him, just fumbled with the fastenings of his jacket. "Kalish said you must be the last true gentleman on Wyndrah, but I’m pretty sure you just don't want me."

"Fyn…" Eondar really didn't want to have this strange discussion, and if Fyn hadn't sounded so lucid, he would have sworn the lifebearer was completely drunk. "Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"No. I want to know." The journalist turned around to face the sire, eyes bright, vulnerable and completely honest. "I want to know so I can stop staring at you like a horny teenager."

Eondar hesitated for a moment, then he took a few steps forward and gently put his hand around Fyn's waist. It was so thin that he could almost encircle it completely with his hands. "Kalish is right. I'm the last gentleman on Wyndrah," he whispered. "But if you really want this…"

Fyn smiled, and the sweetness in his face gave way to something darker, more seductive. "I want this. But you have to do me favor first."

"What favor?"

"Bend down, will you? I'll get a sore neck looking up at you all the time," Fyn said softly.

When the sire complied, Fyn pulled him down even more and kissed him.

 

To be continued...


	5. In which Fyn chews everyone out

Bright sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, and Fyn cursed inwardly. Why hadn't he closed the curtains last night? With a soft grumble, he tried to pull the blanket over his head to escape the nasty light. His head felt like a test area for ion bombs. And he had a nasty ache in his lower back as well. Probably from that stupid fall yesterday. Forests, that had been the longest and strangest day of his life. And ending it with a drinking party hadn't been the brightest of ideas, either. Thankfully, someone had taken him home.

"Fyn?"

The lifebearer started as a familiar low voice sounded in his ear. He turned around to face Eondar who was lying right next to him in bed. The sire smiled gently and a bit shyly. "Good morning."

"Uhhh… morning. Didn't you find your own bed yesterday?" Fyn asked.

"That's one way of putting it." The photographer frowned. "Don't you remember?"

"Remember what? Oh damn. I should have told you. I'm the worst kind of drunk: the kind that seems to be totally sober until he passes out cold. That's why I never drink alone on the rare occasions I want to get wasted," Fyn groaned and rubbed his forehead. "But last night must have been really bad. I totally blacked out. I didn't do anything stupid, did I?"

Fyn hadn't it thought possible for someone as tanned as Eondar to get this pale. "Well, you…"

The journalist sat up in bed and grimaced at the painful movement. Only now he realized that he wasn't wearing any clothes - and neither was Eondar. A terrible suspicion invaded his still fogged mind. "What… what did I do? Tell me!" he asked urgently.

"You… well, I brought you home, and you really seemed completely lucid. Then you… kissed me and asked me if I wanted you, and I just… well, I went along. But then you fell asleep right before we could do anything, and since you didn't let go of me, I stayed here…" The sire slowly backed away from Fyn, hastily grabbing his pants that lay within reach.

Fyn just stared at him for a moment as the pieces fell into place. Then he exploded. "You dumbass! How could you give in so easily? Were you that desperate that you’d take the next guy that throws himself at you in a drunken stupor, even if it's your colleague and room-mate?"

If it was possible, Eondar blanched even more. "Fyn…"

"Get out!" the lifebearer yelled.

Without another word, the sire complied. He quickly grabbed his clothes and exited the bedroom.

Once he was alone, Fyn tried to get out of bed. He gritted his teeth and managed to get to the bathroom to draw himself a hot bath. While he waited for the tub to be filled, he checked his body for any signs of lovemaking, but there were none. The pain in his butt stemmed from a black and blue mark - the result of his fall yesterday when he had bumped into Othric. Fyn discovered it when he looked at himself in the mirror. Apparently, Fyn really had fallen asleep last night before anything serious could happen.

But that wasn't the problem, although Fyn was relieved. He had always wanted his first time to be special, and losing his virginity during a drunken blackout would only count as especially horrible. The problem was Eondar. What the hell had the man been thinking? Apparently, the sire wasn't really picky when it came to his flings, and Fyn had been a convenient opportunity. The anger over that fact was even bigger than his disappointment in the man. And here he had hoped that they had become friends somehow.

The lifebearer stared at his naked reflection in the mirror. The blond locks, free from their usual ponytail, curled wildly around his face and fell onto his shoulders and back in a tousled mess. His face was a bit pale with dark shadows under his eyes. No, Fyn had to admit, he really didn't look his usual, cavity-inducing cute self, but more like a lost little fairy thrown from a storybook into the real world. Absolutely pathetic.

There was no way on Wyndrah that Eondar had any real interest in him.

After a long hot bath, Fyn felt much better - at least physically, although his head still throbbed. His hurt feelings were another matter. When he entered the kitchen, he found breakfast ready and a note from Eondar. "I'm moving into a hotel, and I'll be asking Jordan to assign me to another department. I hope you can forgive me."

Fyn crumpled the note in his hands. Oh no, the photographer wouldn't get away that easily. They had to talk about this, and the lifebearer wanted to know exactly what had happened last night.

 

A nerve-wracking bus ride that seemed to take forever later and the journalist arrived at the "Valkyrie Times". It was still very early in the morning, but he found Celia at his desk, busily typing away. He had allowed her to use his computer anytime since it was linked to the newspaper's database. She smiled at him. "Good morning, Mr. Sheldon! I hope you don't mind, but I just put the finishing touches on my story about the bonding announcement yesterday. I wrote a tiny note for today's news section yesterday evening, but the gossip page is due for the issue tomorrow and needs a longer story since I got an interview with your friend Mr. Norwell. I hope that's okay? You seemed to be so preoccupied, so I took matters into my own hands."

"Why should I mind? That's what makes a good reporter. I'm sure the article is great, just give it to me to read it over when you're finished, okay?" Fyn answered, silently impressed with her initiative. He really wanted to have this girl as his permanent assistant. "Have you seen Eondar today?" he asked.

Celia nodded. "Yes, he came by a few minutes ago to give me the pictures he took yesterday. I think he went to talk with the Editor-in-Chief."

"Oh no, he doesn't!" With a grim expression, the lifebearer rushed out of his office and practically sprinted down the corridor. The Editor-in-Chief's office was located at the far end. The door was closed, and just as Fyn was about to knock, he heard voices from inside the office. The journalist leaned closer to the door to listen.

"…difficult situation. What do I tell the Alliance now? They just got a perfect surveillance perimeter set up around Sheldon's apartment and even got some agents in as tenants. Why on Wyndrah did you cross the line, Eondar?" Jordan McKenzie said. His voice sounded a bit strained.

"Do you really think I wanted all of this?" answered Eondar. "Damnit, Jordan, I couldn't help myself and you know why. And I really thought that he liked me. But after what happened to Michael yesterday, I was already considering moving somewhere else. I can't risk endangering Fyn."

McKenzie sighed. "I understand. And with a bit of luck the Alliance will catch those gangsters soon and everything will be over - at least for you. I still have to worry about those damn blackmailers. The Alliance agents have dug for weeks now, but nothing. If I wasn't so worried about all the people in this building, I'd write it off as a prank. Has Sheldon mentioned anything to you yet?"

"No. If this is something about an unpublished article, he's keeping it to himself - although he told me about almost every important thing in his life."

McKenzie sighed again. "I hate this situation. Let's hope the girl finds something in his computer."

"Jordan… why don't we tell him? I'm sure Fyn would help us. He cares deeply about others and wouldn't want to be the cause of trouble." Eondar's deep voice was almost pleading.

"Eondar, you should know him better than me already. He might tell us what we need to know, but then he'd insist on being part of the investigation. He might even involve his sire who's a private investigator. Sheldon might act like he's a tough cookie and he is actually my best reporter, but I don't want to see that tiny thing in the middle of a veritable war. Do you?"

Whatever the photographer was about to answer, Fyn would never know. He pushed the door open with enough force to let it bang against the wall and stomped into the office. "Sir, with all due respect, by "this tiny thing" has been studying Martial Arts for years and knows how to break both your necks with his bare hands. You both tell me what is going on right now or I'll quit my job, walk out of that door and do exactly what you seem to dread: tell others that something big is going on here!"

Both sires looked up in surprise at this ambush. Fyn glared angrily at them; Eondar especially got the most murderous look in history. Finally, Jordan McKenzie held up his hands in defeat. He was an average-looking sire with dark blond hair, and the seriousness of his jacket and tie was always compromised by a pair of bleached jeans. Fyn had been angry at the man almost from the beginning for keeping him from his job, so he never bothered to look a bit closer. Now, he noticed that his Editor-in-Chief looked very stressed and pale.

Jordan and Eondar exchanged glances, and then the Editor-in-Chief nodded in defeat. "Alright. I guess it's no use. Please close the door and have a seat, Mr. Sheldon. But you have to promise me to keep this to yourself, and you have to tell us what we need to know. Otherwise, all our lives might be in danger."

Fyn frowned, but obeyed and closed the door. He didn't sit down, but stood there with his arms crossed. "I'm listening. But I'll decide later if I’ll tell you anything… boss."

Jordan looked at his brother-in-law. "I guess you should start with what really happened in Azirus."

Fyn looked at Eondar expectantly. The photographer had never talked in detail about his trip to Azirus, and it was the one subject Fyn hadn’t pressed him about. But now the lifebearer realized that it didn't just have to do with the fact that the memories were so horrible. There was something else, something very important and undisclosed.

"Back then, we had been given the location of a secret meeting place in a very poor port village," Eondar began. "I had two colleagues with me: Michael Nolan wrote the reports, and Jamie Hendricks was our assistant. I had been working with Michael for years, but it was Jamie's first tour into dangerous territory. And it would be his last."

The sire hesitated, clear pain in his eyes for a moment before he continued.

"But instead of the rather unimportant and harmless informants we had been hoping to meet, there was one of the rivaling Guildlords of Azirus himself, known as the Shark, surrounded by his goons. We didn't recognize him at first because no one except for his underlings and the people that deal with him know what he looks like, but as we listened to the conversation from our hideout, we quickly learned the truth. He was meeting with someone who was clearly from Avras, but none of us could see him clearly. The stranger proposed a deal to the Shark: he would secure a safe haven for the gangsters in Valkyrie Falls and bribe or threaten some important council members, attorneys, and other influential people to turn a blind eye to the Zarnian mafia in their midst. It seemed that the stranger worked with the criminals in Avras although he, strangely didn't sound like one himself. His voice was upper class, very educated and refined. The Shark demanded to know the price for the stranger's help, and the man just said, "You'll help me get back what belongs to me first. And in time, the network I'll help you build will make you lord of all the Zarnian islands."

Michael, Jamie, and I held our breaths and continued to listen as more details came out, mainly the names of the people who needed to be maneuvered onto their side. None of us had dared to switch on any recording devices during this, but unfortunately, one of our cameras started to beep suddenly as a low battery warning. We ran for our lives with the gangsters close on our heels, shooting at us. Jamie got hit."

Fyn stared at him. That was really so much bigger than he had expected, and slowly, some pieces in his head fell into place. But he managed to keep quiet and listen.

"After that, Michael and I returned to Avras. The TV channel changed our names in the listed credits to protect us, but someone there must have been threatened and told the criminals. Yesterday, Michael was killed in a hit-and-run accident. I know it was no coincidence," Eondar finished. "He was targeted."

"Damn, didn't you go to the police, or better, to the Alliance for help?" Fyn asked.

The photographer's face turned even darker. "I did. The Alliance was very interested in my story, and they have been watching Michael and me for weeks now. But apparently, the gangsters got lucky yesterday."

"But what has this all got to do with forbidding me to do my job, Boss?" the lifebearer asked Jordan with a frown.

"We're coming to that," the Editor-in-Chief said. "When Eondar returned from Zarn, I was the only one he told the whole story besides the Alliance agents. I was just about to start my job here at the "Valkyrie Times", but I had promised to keep this under wraps for the moment. Then, just a week or so later, I started getting blackmail letters. I was told to keep my investigative journalist from any serious research or risk the lives of all "Times" staff members and their families. I contacted the Alliance on this as well, and they advised me to comply until they'd found out who was feeling cornered by our articles. But so far, they have found nothing. You, Mr. Sheldon, wrote some nasty stuff about some very important people in this city, but none of them was apparently angry enough to take such drastic measures."

"Oh, damn it all, it's probably about my little conspiracy theory!" the lifebearer exclaimed as he finally understood what was going on. "Eondar, which names did you overhear on Azirus?"

Eondar thought for a moment. "I didn't write anything down, mind you, but I'm sure it was about State Attorneys Carlton and Harrows, Council members Dellary, Sheens, Morgan, and Olvad, and the heads of GTZ Cargo and Stellaris Entertainment. The last two don't make much sense to me."

"Hah! I knew it!" Fyn grinned at both sires who raised their eyebrows in confusion. "GTZ Cargo and Stellaris Entertainment have very big facilities at the harbor that haven't been used for years. They'd be the perfect storerooms for illegal wares. - Okay, listen. For some time now, I have been trying to find a way to connect exactly those people. Each of them started to behave strangely in their decisions at exactly the same time, but I couldn't find a reason. So I started my little theory on them all being under the influence of a criminal organization. I had no proof whatsoever, so I didn't tell anybody. Then you forbade me from doing any serious work, and I stopped my pet project as well - although I wanted to take it up again no matter what you had said."

"So the criminals must have realized that you were researching their targets." Eondar was piecing together the puzzle as well now. "And this means that the person blackmailing Jordan is the same one that I overheard on Azirus… the Sharks's unknown Avras associate."

"It's a shame you don't have any recordings, or the Alliance could have found that guy already. On the other hand, it would have been far more dangerous." Fyn looked at McKenzie. "And you thought I wouldn't have understood if you had told me the real reasons? Damnit, what if I had continued my research anyways, giving those criminals a reason to make good on their threat? Do you really think I would have continued if I had known that Eondar's colleague had gotten killed because of this?"

"I'm sorry. I just… you're right. I should have told you," Jordan murmured. "But now you know, and you can help the Alliance with your research results. Would you do that?"

"All you had to do was ask, Boss," the lifebearer answered, shaking his head. Why did nobody trust him to be sensible? "And just so you know, I'm not afraid. I’ve been threatened before. And I already had the most nerve-wracking day of my life yesterday, so I don't think that this can scare me any more than that."

Both sires seemed to relax a bit, although Eondar's face still betrayed his worry. Jordan got up and extended his hand to Fyn. "I do hope that we can work together from now on."

The journalist took it. "Apology accepted, Boss. And now I should get to the Alliance HQ and talk to the guys there, right?"

Jordan grinned. "No need. The agent responsible is already here. To be exact, she's sitting in your office right now."

 

To be continued…


	6. in which Fyn is feeling pathetic

Chapter 6

 

"The agent is female and she's in my office right now?" Fyn repeated. "But I was there just a minute ago…" Then it dawned on him. "Celia?! She's an Ulvari agent? No way!"

"Yes, Miss Warren is a junior agent of the Ulvari. She specializes in computer research and, of course, undercover operations because nobody would suspect a harmless-looking girl," the editor-in-chief answered with a crooked smile.

"That's… wow, I would never have guessed…" the lifebearer murmured. "But that also means that she won't be my assistant in the future. Damn shame!" Then another realization hit him. "If it's her job here to spy on me, then this means that partnering me up with Eondar was just a ruse as well, right?"

"Not really. He wanted to work here anyway, and it was convenient since Miss Warren was easily able to keep an eye on him as well," Jordan explained hastily when he saw the lifebearer's face darken again. "He would have been your partner no matter what, and you should know by now that he's good at his job."

"That's beside the point," Fyn said, eyes lingering on Eondar. "I absolutely loathe being kept in the dark like this! And you both know that your so-called reasons for not telling me anything make me look like a stupid, careless, helpless child!" He took a deep breath. "Anyway, my getting worked up over spilled milk is useless. I have a job to do."

Then Fyn left his editor-in-chief's office. He was still furious, but mostly hurt. If he hadn't been a tiny, cute, too-young-looking lifebearer, those two sires would have come clean to him right away. It was really the story of his life. But the thing that stung the most was the fact that Eondar should have been known by now that Fyn was indeed far more capable than he looked.

 

Celia at least wasn't contrite for pretending to be the intern. "I love what I do here, and I learned at lot from you," she said, when they sat down for a cup of coffee in Fyn's office a few minutes later. "This has been by far the best undercover job for me. Often enough, I had to I go back to high school – yuck."

Fyn could relate to that, given the high schoolers regularly hitting on him on the bus. "But I have to find someone new to be my regular assistant once your assignment is over. I would have preferred you to stay."

She beamed at him, dark eyes sparkling. "Thanks. But there's no reason why we shouldn't work together in the future. The Alliance always needs private contractors and informants. I'm actually surprised that they've never contacted you on that before."

The journalist could very well imagine why they hadn't but he wouldn't pass a chance to work with the Alliance like he had always wanted to. "I certainly intend to be a big help to you for a change, Celia," he said. "Wait, it that your real name, by the way? Or aren't you allowed to tell me?"

"Cecilia is my middle name, after my grandmother," the girl – no, agent - answered. Fyn could now understand a bit better how easy it was to underestimate people based on looks. He wouldn't have ever guessed this bubbly, sweet girl to be an Ulvari operative. "And speaking of telling: I rummaged through your computer more than once, I'm afraid. But I didn't find anything related to this case."

"That's because I use my old recording device for important stuff." Fyn grinned and gave her the old-fashioned little piece of technology he always kept on his person. "They don't manufacture those anymore, so the tapes are useless since they can't be read by newer equipment. I don't know if my research so far can help you at all, but I want it back later. This still might be my biggest story so far. And if there's anything else I can do, just tell me."

Celia took the device and pocketed it. "Of course." She hesitated before she continued, "And one more thing: please don't be mad at Eondar. He just wanted to protect you." Celia hesitated before she continued. "I know it's not really my business, but I've gotten to know you two very well in the time I've been working here, and I truly care."

At the mention of the photographer, Fyn's face closed up again. "I wanted to talk with him anyway. Can I still send you downstairs to fetch some old articles for me? Amidst all this chaos, we have to keep on working like normal, and if you stop assisting me, it might look suspicious."

"I'm still the intern here," she replied with a conspiratorial grin and got up. "I'll get your records to my colleagues at lunch break, and you'll have them back in one or two days, I'm sure."

When she was gone, the lifebearer sat down behind his desk and tried to sort through all the events that had happened. He was determined to be a deciding factor in this investigation and prove himself to those condescending sires. He wasn't going to rely on others for help, but do all the work himself. And now that Fyn knew the bigger picture, his collected data could be seen in a different light. He didn't need the details on his recording device; his memory was clear enough. The journalist took a piece of paper and a pen and started drawing a chart. It was a trick he had learned from his sire. Whenever Sheldon was at a dead end in an investigation, he made a hand-drawn chart to visualize every event, person, place, and object that was related to the case.

Fyn was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice the knocking at his door at first. When he finally looked up and called "Enter", it wasn't Celia as he had expected. It was Eondar. The sire still looked ill at ease.

The lifebearer took a deep breath. "Close the door and lock it, please." When Eondar complied, Fyn got up from his desk and walked toward the photographer. "I've decided not to yell at you anymore. But I think we still have things left to clear up. I want to know where I stand with you; not just after last night, but in regards to what I just learned as well. I want to continue to work with you because I'm a professional and I don't want personal differences to affect our work relationship."

The sire looked down at him for a few moments, but as always, there was no haughtiness in the way he did it. "Like Jordan said: we would have worked together anyway. I did want to tell you everything, and I feel bad for not doing so, but the reason wasn't me not trusting you or not believing in your ability to handle it. I just didn't want to drag you into this mess."

"But as far as I understand it, I have been right in the middle of it from the beginning." Fyn crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared up into Eondar's face with a challenging glare.

"I had the hope that it was not your research that had caused the criminals' threats, especially since you never mentioned it although you told me so much about the things that are important to you. Celia also didn't find anything. At best, you could have been left out of this completely," Eondar answered. There was a glimmer in his steely eyes Fyn couldn't exactly name. Worry, yes, but something else. "But now it's a moot point anyway."

"So… you truly stayed silent out of concern for me?" Fyn still wasn't exactly happy with that prospect, but it was a reason he could at least accept.

The sire nodded. He hesitated for a moment, a heavy inner conflict mirrored in his whole demeanor. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. "Although I didn't tell you certain things, I never lied to you – save for one occasion. You remember asking me about the reason for my recent nightmares? I told you I didn't know then. But I do. The reason I've been waking up screaming every night since I started working here was because of you. I dreamed of you being killed, and all I could do was watch in utter helplessness - just like it had been with my betrothed Sharelan and my colleague Jamie."

"What?" Fyn wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly.

"Let me show you something," the sire murmured. He took his wallet from his jacket pocket and pulled out two photographs.

"This was my betrothed Sharelan. He hated this particular picture I took of him, but I kept it." Eondar showed Fyn the more crumpled of the two photographs. It showed a slender lifebearer in a too-big, white shirt with disheveled, golden blonde hair flowing in waves over his shoulders. He was just looking up from a book he'd been reading; lips slightly apart, light eyes huge in his delicate face. The journalist was spontaneously reminded of the way his own father looked.

"He was really beautiful," the journalist admitted, feeling a twinge of sadness at the thought of this young man's sudden and tragic death.

"He was," Eondar agreed softly, eyes downcast. Then he showed Fyn the other picture. "Michael and Jamie, just before our trip to Azirus."

But the lifebearer would have guessed their identity anyway. The shot showed two human men, one in his forties, and the other barely in his twenties. The older guy had a beard, glasses and was wearing a big, cheeky grin and a t-shirt reading "The Mike" in bold red letters. Fyn instantly regretted not having met Michael Nolan.

Jamie Hendricks, on the other hand, smiled very shyly into the camera. His strawberry-blonde hair was short, but threatened to curl at the ends, and a lot of freckles decorated his nose. Next to the heavily-built Michael, he seemed positively tiny, and his whole appearance just screamed "cute".

Fyn frowned as Eondar put the pictures back into his wallet. "Okay, I see it. Sharelan, Jamie, and I are all the same type: we're small and have blonde, wavy hair. I guess you think this is a pattern, right? Eondar, I'm terribly sorry for your losses, but this is ridiculous. I'm not in danger, and I'm not going to die just because I happen to look a bit like them!"

"It's more than that, Fyn," the sire said with a look so serious and stern that it was almost scary. "You know that some lashran, mostly magically gifted ones, have visions and dreams of their future mate long before they meet? I don't have any magic, but like everyone else in my family, I have those visions. My brother knew right away that Jordan was the one for him, and so did my sire when he met my father. Since I can remember, I have been dreaming of a petite young man with blonde locks. Then I met Sharelan, and I was sure that he was the one I had been waiting for."

Fyn turned away from Eondar, finally realizing what this was all about. The photographer had lost his destined mate in a terrible accident, and when he had somehow overcome it, he had met Jamie who happened to resemble Sharelan. Fyn was now sure that Eondar had planned on starting a relationship with Jamie, but the young journalist's death had once again crushed any hopes. And now, the sire had met Fyn, who also resembled Sharelan enough to be a substitute.

"I'm very sorry," the lifebearer whispered, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. Yesterday definitely hadn't been the worst day of his life – today was now officially claiming that trophy. Fyn swallowed and tried to sound firm. "But it might not be such a good idea to continue to work as partners. I said I don't want personal issues to affect it, but in this case…"

"I understand," Eondar answered very quietly.

If Fyn hadn't known better, he could have sworn that the sire sounded hurt. But that was nonsense. Of course it was horrible to lose the love of your life, but trying to replace them with other people who could never live up to it was downright cruel, and Fyn wanted no part in it. He would not be a cheap replacement for beautiful, perfect Sharelan. Even if it might be his only chance to be with someone… he loved.

Fyn closed his eyes, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Yes, he loved Eondar. It wasn't just physical attraction anymore, and maybe it never had been. He loved that gentle, quiet, and courageous sire. They had so much in common, and Eondar was maybe the only one besides his parents, Kalish, and Celia who truly respected him.

But all of that didn't matter anymore, and maybe it had never been real at all. All this time, Eondar had just been seeing his dead lover in Fyn's face.

 

The rest of the day was a blur. Fyn continued to work as usual, but he was on autopilot. Celia noticed, of course, but thankfully she didn't say anything on the matter.

In the evening, the journalist went home to a dreadfully empty apartment. He had gotten so used to Eondar's presence that his home now seemed cold and deserted. No delicious smell wafted from the kitchen, no gentle voice greeted him. And no one would thank him for a mug of hot milk in the middle of the night.

The lifebearer sat down on the sofa and stared out the window. The sun was just about to set over the skyline of the city, turning the sky into an ocean of colors. It was such a beautiful and romantic sight, and Fyn felt a big lump in his throat. But he wouldn't cry over this. It wasn't worth it.

Just as the journalist decided to get up and make himself dinner, his phone rang. It was Kalish.

"Fynnie! Sweetheart, how are you? I’m guessing you had just as bad a headache as I did this morning. Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you'd meet me and Rick for lunch tomorrow?"

Fyn didn't hesitate. He wouldn't mope around! "Yes, of course. I think I can also get some time off in the afternoon. My boss owes me one."

Kalish laughed. "Great! Listen, would you be a dear and help me find the perfect outfit for the bonding ceremony? You're the only one I can trust to give me an honest opinion and help me decide. Pretty please?"

"Well, I can't let you walk down the aisle in a horrid outfit, can I?" Fyn answered with a fond smile. He just wasn't able to stay mad at anyone for long, and he truly wanted Kalish to have the perfect bonding ceremony. He walked into the kitchen and put the phone on speakerphone to have his hands would be free to make dinner.

"Thanks, you're the best!" Kalish hesitated a moment. "Listen… Rick told me everything about him and you this morning. I must admit I was really surprised, but I do hope you guys will get along. After all, we're all gonna be a family."

"I know. And I want to get to know him, Kalish. Not necessarily as a parent, since I already have the best parents on Wyndrah, but as my best friend's bondmate," the journalist replied as he pulled a soup can from the cupboard. "And I guess he's really not so bad. We just need time."

"Of course," Kalish said. "I understand that. And speaking of bondmates… did Eondar behave last evening?"

Fyn sighed and put the can down. Sooner or later, he had to talk about this or he would go crazy. And after their fight about keeping things from each other, he wasn't about to start having secrets from his best friend. "Well… I guess so. But… I didn't. You know the saying about drunken people not lying? Anyway, nothing happened. But now it turns out that…" He paused. "He isn't really interested in me, just as I said from the beginning." In short words, he told Kalish about his earlier conversation with Eondar while his dinner heated up on the stove.

The other lifebearer was silent for a moment after Fyn finished, then he said, "Are you sure? Did he really say that this Sharelan was his destined mate?"

"Well, he said that he thought so back then. What does it matter?" Fyn asked.

"A lot, you dork! And what did you say?" Kalish demanded to know.

"I said I wanted to stop working with him under these circumstances, and that was it." Fyn balanced his soup as he made his way to the kitchen table and sat down. Damn, his leg was hurting again. "What else should I have said?"

"You should have let that poor guy finish!" Kalish practically yelled, making the journalist almost drop his spoon. "Don't you see what he tried to tell you? You're the one he's been waiting for! It's not you who resembles his dead fiancé, that lifebearer resembled you! Forests, Fynnie, how can someone as smart as you be this dumb?!"

Fyn frowned. "Nonsense. He didn't say…"

"He didn't say anything because you threw him out! And now he thinks that you played with him all along. Damn it, call him and clear that up! And don't you tell me that you don't love him!" Kalish huffed. "I've known you for ages, and you haven't made doe eyes at anyone since that bastard back in high school…"

"Don't remind me!" Fyn interrupted him. "And I'm… I'm not denying anything here, okay? But I thought I didn't have a chance anyway…"

Now it was Kalish's turn to sigh. "But you do, sweetheart. Your Eondar is an honest and sweet guy, and he's every bit as lonely as you. Call him and give him a chance."

"I'll think about it. See you tomorrow, Kalish." Fyn disconnected the phone and stared into his soup. As sensible as Kalish's advice was, he just had to mention that high school incident. The lifebearer hadn't thought about that in ages, but when he was brutally honest with himself, that was the real reason for not trusting sires in general, aside from the fact that nobody decent had ever shown any interest in him.

Or… maybe there had been good guys, but he just hadn't given them a chance because he had just assumed the worst.

As the journalist slowly ate his soup (too much salt, no comparison to Eondar's vegetable stew), he remembered.

 

Fyn and Kalish had been in their last year of high school, preparing for their final exams. Both were top students, always in friendly competition. They had become best friends in junior year despite the fact that Kalish was very popular while Fyn was more the nerdy type, buried in books all the time. A few weeks before the exams, Fyn was approached by the most popular guy in their class, Jayson Mayfield. He was a tall, handsome sire with a face like a movie star and, as cliché as it could be, the school's star football player. Every girl and lifebearer wanted to be his friend or his date. Fyn, despite knowing better, had a huge crush on Jayson, but had never dared to say anything. Now, the sire had come to him to ask him for some tutoring.

"I was so busy with football, I neglected math, literature, and biology a bit," he admitted with a smile. "I'd be really grateful if you'd help me so I can pass the exams."

Of course, Fyn agreed, delighted to spend the following afternoons in Jayson's company. They laughed a lot together, and one day, the sire gave him a brief kiss on the cheek as a goodbye. A week later, it was a kiss on the mouth.

Fyn was just waiting to be asked to the prom ball. He was completely convinced that he and Jayson had some kind of romance going on, and now it was just a matter of making it public. But things turned out differently: one day after school, the lifebearer went to the football training field to meet up with Jayson. He was a bit early, and he ended catching the tail end of a conversation between Jayson and his friends.

"Are you still hanging out with that little nerd?" one of the guys asked Jayson.

The sire laughed. "I'm not 'hanging out' with him. He gets me through the exams, and I pay him with a little affection. But really, he should be the thankful one."

"So you're not really asking him to prom, right?"

"Are you kidding, man? I have all the gorgeous chicks and lifebearers of this school standing in line, waiting for me to ask them," Jayson boasted. "What the hell would I want with a cripple at a dance? Don't get me wrong, Fyn's kinda cute – when he's not being a wise ass. Maybe I'll give him a pity fuck after I've passed the exams."

 

To this day, Fyn still remembered every word. He also remembered dropping his books and storming toward Jayson, beating the hell out of him while trying every Martial Arts move he had ever learned. The sire and his friends stayed silent about it since it was far too humiliating to admit to anyone that the star football player had been beaten up by a tiny lifebearer.

Jayson went to prom with a black eye and a slight limp himself, and Fyn ended up staying home. Kalish, ever the devoted friend, returned early and kept him company for the rest of the evening.

So far, not much had changed. That incident had been a long time ago, but Fyn still hadn't put it behind him. Since that first huge disappointment, he had never really tried to give someone else a chance, just assuming that everybody was like Jayson.

The journalist got up, putting away his empty plate. He felt tired and still a bit sad, and he didn't really dare to hope that Kalish was right.

But he would never find out if he didn't call Eondar, right?

Still unsure what to do, the lifebearer went to the bathroom to shower and started to clean up things around the apartment a bit afterward. As he opened the door to the room Eondar had been occupying, the feeling of loneliness was almost overwhelming. But he gritted his teeth and started to put the sleeper sofa back to its original state. As he did so, he found a white shirt underneath the white covers. Eondar had obviously forgotten it.

Despite feeling silly, the lifebearer couldn't resist burying his face in the soft fabric. It smelled faintly of Eondar's shower gel; fresh and slightly salty, like the ocean.

"Forests, I'm pathetic," Fyn murmured. He slipped out of his bath robe and put the shirt on. It was ridiculously large, going to his knees and making him look like a kid playing dress-up in his father's clothes. But it helped ease the bad feelings a bit, so he kept it on as he wandered back into the living room.

Just as the journalist decided to go to bed, there was the sound of a lock turning, and the apartment door opened.

To be continued...


	7. in which Fyn gets second chances

CHapter 7

Fyn's first thought was that it could be a burglar, but then he remembered that several people had a key to his apartment. The identity of the late guest was revealed seconds later anyway as a familiar, tall figure appeared.

Eondar stared at him in surprise. "Sorry, I thought you were out…" As he was about to close the door again, Fyn stopped him.

"No, it's okay. Err, come in."

The photographer hesitated, then he entered the apartment. He looked a bit uncomfortable. "I just wanted to return your keys," he said and put them on the counter next to the door. "And I hoped to find my favorite shirt…"

Now Fyn realized that he was wearing that exact piece of clothing, and nothing else, and he blushed. "I guess I've found it," he mumbled. "Wait a sec, I'll…"

"Keep it on." Eondar's face lit up as he saw Fyn's reaction, and a little smile graced his lips. Someone wearing another person's shirt was a pretty obvious sign of affection, and both knew it. "It suits you."

"Oh. Erm…" The journalist was usually not at a loss for words, but now…"Care for a mug of hot milk?" he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I'd love to," the sire answered, closing the door behind him and pulling off his coat.

A few minutes later, the two were sitting on the sofa, drinking their milk. Fyn was still wearing the shirt, but as he pulled up his legs to sit more comfortably, he noticed Eondar's gaze on his right leg. There was a large, jagged scar on the otherwise smooth, creamy skin were the bones had broken through. It somehow looked like a crack in a fine porcelain cup.

"I know, it's ugly," Fyn mumbled, trying to pull the hem of the shirt over it, but Eondar stopped him. His warm, large hands carefully settled on the leg, slowly starting to massage the tense muscles. The lifebearer sighed in bliss as the pain slowly eased. He closed his eyes, not caring anymore about decorum or their fight. He just didn't want Eondar to stop – ever.

Slowly, very slowly, the massage turned into a caress. The pain was gone, and now the sire's fingers left a strange tingle on the scarred, oversensitive skin. Fyn caught himself giving a little gasp and opened his eyes.

Eondar's beautiful, steely eyes were lit with a warm fire as they met Fyn's gaze. There was so much hope in them, so much longing… Was it real? Was it truly Fyn Eondar wanted and no one else? Or had the sight of Fyn in that shirt just reminded the sire of Sharelan's picture again?

"If there's any chance left for you and me, I'd happily take it," the sire confessed in that low, gentle voice of his. "I know that I’m asking for a lot, but…"

Fyn cut him off by putting a finger on Eondar's mouth. "It's okay." Then he leaned forward to gently kiss the sire. It was a brief touch, impossibly warm and sweet with just a tinge of bitterness. But the lifebearer ignored it. He wanted Eondar, and he wouldn't let him get away, even if the sire just saw Sharelan in him. Maybe it was time to face the realities of life and just take what was offered to him. Maybe it was time to truly grow up and accept the fact that this was all he could ever have.

As Fyn pulled away, Eondar looked at him in an almost inquiring manner. "Have you drunk any alcohol?" he asked softly.

Fyn grinned. "No. I know what I'm doing this time."

That was all Eondar needed to hear. With a swift movement, he pulled Fyn towards him and sat him down on his lap. That way, neither of them had to crane their necks while kissing. The sire's large, warm hands roamed over Fyn's back, letting the shirt glide sensually over the skin. It was pure heaven.

The sire didn't take long to realize that Fyn wasn't wearing anything underneath the shirt, and as his hands wandered lower, the lifebearer felt a twinge of nervousness for the first time. This was getting serious, and he wasn't sure what to do. Sure, he knew enough from books, the internet, and Kalish's detailed reports, but doing it himself was an entirely different thing.

Eondar immediately noticed that something was distracting Fyn and stopped. His gentle gaze met Fyn's in a silent question. The lifebearer bit his lip, wincing at the abuse of the sensitive flesh. "Can we… take it slowly?" he asked softly, hoping that he wasn't blushing too hard.

Forests, this was humiliating. But he sure as hell wasn't about to tell Eondar that this was his first time!

But the sire just nodded and resumed their kiss while he restricted his touch to more innocuous areas of Fyn's body. But it was more than enough already. The lifebearer felt as if his whole body was melting, and the friction between their clothed bodies just enhanced his arousal. Starved of physical contact as he was, the combination of these things and their heated kiss was sufficient. With a helpless moan, the lifebearer reached orgasm just as Eondar once again caressed the scar on his leg.

Breathing heavily, Fyn leaned his head against the sire's shoulder. Forests, he really had no self-control when it came to that man! Now Eondar knew for sure how desperate and pathetic he was.

But the sire stayed silent and didn't make any comments. He just stroked Fyn's disheveled hair and then kissed the top of his head. After a few moments, Fyn felt himself being lifted and carefully carried into his bedroom. There, Eondar put him on the bed and pulled the covers over him.

"Stay with me?" Fyn asked softly, his voice already heavy with fatigue. The sire smiled and nodded. He pulled off his shoes and climbed into bed next to the lifebearer. Fyn curled up next to him and almost immediately fell asleep.

 

Both awoke early in the morning, Fyn found himself lying on top of Eondar, using him as a pillow, and the embarrassment of last night returned. But there was no regret, and as he smiled sheepishly at the sire, he knew that the feeling was mutual. Nevertheless, there was something he had to say. "Sorry for taking advantage of you like this, but would you move in with me again?"

"I'd be happy to," Eondar answered with a smile. "But what do you mean by taking advantage? I'll be your pillow any time."

The lifebearer felt himself blush. "No, I mean for… well, for falling asleep again and not... you know, returning the favor."

"As I've said before, I'm the last gentleman on Wyndrah, and I can wait," Eondar replied as he combed through Fyn's curls with his fingers. "You set the pace here."

"Okay, you're officially too good to be true," the lifebearer stated. Either Eondar had an unusually low sex drive like himself, or he took a lot of Amsinol – or he wasn't that interested in Fyn. There it was again, the nagging little demon of doubt.

As if the sire had read his thoughts, he pulled Fyn closer and gave him the longest and most passionate kiss in history to prove the sincerity of his attraction.

 

As promised, Fyn met Kalish and Othric for lunch. He and Eondar had been busy all morning with moving the sire's stuff back into Fyn's apartment and then going to do a quick review of a theatre matinee. They would have both preferred to stay at home and do some more intimate exploring, but work had to come first.

The place Kalish had proposed for lunch was a nice and quiet little restaurant in downtown, not far from the building where the "Valkyrie Times" offices resided. Othric was once again wearing tinted glasses, but the restaurant was known to be a haunt of important businesspeople during lunchtime, so nobody took notice. Fyn had done some undercover work here before, but today he was here just for private business.

Kalish gave him a hug as usual, and Fyn exchanged a handshake and a smile with Othric. "I hope you know what you're in for. Kalish always starts to sing when he's drunk," the journalist said with a grin. "And he can't keep a tune to save his life."

"Shush, you," Kalish interrupted him with a soft blush. "I wasn't singing that loudly yesterday, okay?"

"Yes, you were, love," Othric told him with a smile and kissed his hand. "But I don't mind. My barkeeper has strict orders to throw all the other guests out whenever you and Fyn want to have a drinking party again."

His betrothed giggled. "I think that's a promise."

The waiter came, and after the three had ordered lunch, Fyn wanted to know everything about the bonding ceremony and the things Kalish and Othric had planned. A lashran bonding was different from a human wedding, but many traditions had intermingled. A big party with speeches, games, and dancing, a cake and the throwing of a bouquet were universal customs now that were celebrated by humans and lashran alike in Avras. Fyn, adept at organizing, of course volunteered to help as much as possible and was glad to see that Othric was obviously happy about it. They might not be friends yet, but it was a far cry from their horrendous first meeting.

The only problem was Fyn's parents. He hadn't told them yet about his meeting with Othric and the things he had learned, but he had to warn them before they met him at the ceremony. Kalish had of course insisted on inviting his best friend's family, and it might get a bit awkward. But Fyn wanted to visit his parents the following evening anyway – and take Eondar with him.

 

After lunch, Othric said goodbye, since he had to return to his office, and Fyn and Kalish walked down the street to reach the shopping mall that was located just a bit further down the road. The red-haired lifebearer had a thousand ideas already for the clothes he wanted to wear for the ceremony and told Fyn about it in his usual, cheerful manner. The journalist listened with a happy smile, and finally his friend interrupted himself. "Fynnie, you're so… I don't know, cheerful today. Something good must have happened, right?"

Fyn grinned at being caught. "Yes, I guess so… Eondar and I… Careful!"

With a quick grasp, the journalist pulled his friend away from the curb. A big car had passed them dangerously closely, and if he hadn't intervened, Kalish might have been hit. Both stared after the car as it sped along the street. It was black, with tinted windows and no license plate.

"Forests, what an idiot," Kalish exclaimed, patting Fyn's arm. "Thanks, Fynnie."

"No problem," the lifebearer murmured as it dawned on him what had just happened. "Let's hurry, okay? The mall should be safe. Lots of people, and nobody can run you over."

"What?" Kalish frowned at his friend. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't mind me. Come on." Fyn practically dragged Kalish off the sidewalk and into the elegant mall. There, he ushered his friend into a designer shop where half a dozen employees started to fuss over him immediately. With a deep breath, Fyn pulled out his cell phone.

"Celia? Just a moment go, my friend Kalish almost got hit by a car, and it was no accident. I think I know now who's behind all of this."

 

Fyn didn't dare leave Kalish alone. Celia promised to send an escort to see them both home safely and to establish a security perimeter around Kalish's apartment as well. Fyn waited to tell his friend about the imminent danger until after the red-haired lifebearer had, contrary to his usual habit, found the perfect outfit at the first shop: a beautiful suit, made of cream-colored satin with a crimson, iridescent shirt that matched his hair perfectly.

Both sat down in a little café at the mall, and Fyn told his friend as much as he dared to under the circumstances. Kalish looked at him, eyes full of doubt. "I don't understand. I don't have anything to do with those Zarnian crime lords and their intrigues! Why should they target me, of all people? Aren't you a bit paranoid after everything that has happened in the last few days?"

Fyn shook his head. "No, that car almost hitting you was no accident. And you are a target because you are the person that Othric loves the most. He is the one they want to hurt by injuring or even killing you."

"And why Othric then? Fynnie, please, who is behind all this?" Kalish pleaded. "Can't the Alliance do something?"

"They were doing everything they could, but until now they didn't know who exactly to look for. But I have a pretty good idea by now." Fyn's face darkened. "Don't worry; we'll get him for sure this time."

 

About ten minutes later, two unsuspicious looking agents, a sire and a woman, picked them up at the café. Fyn reassured his best friend that everything would be alright now and that he would talk to Othric about the situation. Kalish should stay at home for the moment under the watchful eyes of the agents.

The journalist went back to the "Valkyrie Times" to meet up with Celia, some more field agents, Jordan, and Eondar for a council of war. He also called Othric and asked him to join them as well. After the sire had heard that his betrothed almost got killed by a madman, he promised to join them in a hurry.

While they waited for him to arrive, Celia introduced Fyn to the senior agent in charge of the operation. Anthony Talbot was a human in his fifties with greying hair, a neat beard and a no-nonsense attitude. He briefly shook hands with Fyn.

"I do hope you have something solid here, Mr. Sheldon," he said in a grumbling tone. "The material on your recording device didn't provide anything useful so far."

"If there had been anything serving as proof for this case, I would have noticed weeks ago," the journalist answered coolly as he once again felt he was not being taken seriously.

Talbot just raised an eyebrow. "Well, I hope you're not wasting our time here."

Jordan provided them with a big conference room that also had a digital whiteboard. When everyone involved was assembled about half an hour later, Fyn stepped forward. He quickly told them about Kalish's near-accident and his own realization.

"The black car without a licence plate was the final hint," he said, his gaze fixing on Eondar. "You said that your colleague Michael was also run over by such a car, Eondar, right? And from what my parents told me, some thirty years ago my dad was also targeted by such a car. Back then, it belonged to a gangster named Malrone. He is now an old man, still serving his time in prison, but there is someone else. Someone who always wanted to take over the Holden hotels to make them a safe haven for criminals. Someone who conspired with the Zarnian guild lord who in return would help him 'get back what belongs to him'. Eondar, you and your colleagues overheard that conversation, and from that point on, everything that has happened until now was a consequence of that coincidence. He was the one who threatened or bribed those influential people in town and threatened Mr. McKenzie and the "Times" when I started investigating and found a connection." Fyn paused to select a picture on the digital whiteboard and enlarged it. It showed a beautiful lifebearer with cold, mad eyes. "I think the one behind everything is Sylair Holden."

He heard Othric gasp. "Forests… are you sure?"

Fyn nodded. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. And I think I can prove it."

He selected another file, this time a video. It was an interview of Sylair at a fashion show some decades ago. The lifebearer wore a shockingly orange outfit and heavy makeup. His voice was light and carefree as he talked about some silly fashion trend.

"Mr. Solir, is that the voice you overheard in Azirus?" Talbot asked the sire.

The photographer listened intently for a moment. Finally, he nodded. "He sounded more serious, of course, but I'm sure it's him. The cultured accent and the timbre are the same."

"It’s not much, but it's a lead," the senior agent had to admit.

"But how do we find him?" Jordan demanded to know. "Mr. Talbot, your agents…"

"We'll send out a nation-wide warrant to every executive force in this country," he answered, motioning to Celia who immediately started to make the necessary calls. "As soon as we have this guy in custody, we'll know more."

"But I'm sure he has help from the local underworld, or he has some of the Shark's men with him," Fyn interjected. "I have some contacts in, shall we say, certain areas. I think I can find out more. Who else would be better informed about illegal activities than the local… professionals?"

Mr. Talbot clearly disliked that idea. "Mr. Sheldon, you've done enough. This is work for the professionals of the legal kind, do you understand? You, Mr. Solir, Mr. Holden and his fiancé stay at home and keep out of this. It's too dangerous for you to get involved any further. Some of my agents will also stay in this building at all times to ensure the safety of the employees of the "Times". "

"Now wait a minute!" the lifebearer bristled. "If it's really Sylair who's behind this, I want him to get caught even more than you. He almost killed my parents a few decades ago! And he kidnapped me when I was a child!"

"Yes, there was that incident, I read about it in the report. One more reason for you to stay out if this," the man declared in a cold tone. "We'll get security for your parents as well, don't worry. Nobody else will get hurt."

Fyn snorted. "Do you really believe that? Sylair had decades to plot this and surely has several backup plans. He won't sit there and wait for you to catch him."

"Mr. Sheldon, the Alliance will get him, and even if you don't believe it, we have specialists in all areas: hackers, undercover contacts, spirit singers, and sorcerers. Nobody can hide forever." Talbot walked up to the whiteboard and deactivated it. "Ladies and gentlemen, this meeting is over. You all know what to do. If there's anything suspicious happening, you call us."

Fyn shot him a dark look, but stayed silent. It was no use. But no force on Wyndrah would keep him from doing his work. He would call his underworld contacts to find Sylair. But this wasn't about revenge. Fyn simply wanted to keep that madman from hurting any more people.

 

A short while later, Fyn and Eondar entered a bus at the station next to the "Valkyrie Times". Jordan had given them leave for the time being. The journalist was unusually quiet, but after a few minutes, Eondar remarked, "This is not the way back to your apartment."

"No, it isn't. We're driving to a contact’s address," the lifebearer answered, his face brooding. "If those Alliance agents think I'll sit tight and do nothing, they're sadly mistaken."

"For me, it's as personal as it is for you," the sire said softly, taking Fyn's hand that was clenched in a fist. The lifebearer hadn't even noticed how tense he was. His fingers relaxed in the warm, reassuring grip. "But Mr. Talbot was right, this is no game. We are all in real danger."

"No more than we have been for the past few weeks," Fyn reminded him. "And as I said, we're already too deeply involved to stay out of this. If Sylair wants to harm anyone of us, he won't stop just because we're sitting at home. None of us is safe until he's caught."

Eondar didn't argue any further. They stayed quiet until they reached their destination: the far east side of town. The buildings here were rather shabby, and people walking by seemed to be in a hurry to get home. Here and there, rough-looking men with leather jackets and tattoos lingered in dark corners.

But neither Fyn nor Eondar were easily intimidated. As fast as his right leg allowed, the lifebearer walked down the street until they reached a pub with glaring neon letters above the door: "The Red Cat".

Eondar just raised an eyebrow, but if Fyn really wanted to meet some people from the local underworld, this seemed to be right place.

The pub's interior was surprisingly nice, albeit rather shady; the décor was classy with old, dark wood and antique plate advertising for various alcohols. At this hour, just a few customers sat in a corner, sipping at their beer and playing cards.

Fyn went straight to the bar. Behind it, a middle-aged woman was polishing beer mugs. She was still very beautiful with her fiery red locks, streaked with grey, and sharp green eyes in an angular face. When she recognized Fyn, a broad smile graced her crimson lips.

"Darling, it's been ages!" she exclaimed, rushing towards Fyn to embrace him. Eondar noticed that she was wearing very high heels, but was still not quite as tall as the small lifebearer. Her overall stature was thin and wiry.

"Hello, Cat," Fyn greeted her, and now Eondar knew the origin of the pub's name. But it was more than that: the red-haired woman looked indeed somewhat like a feline.

"So, how are you doing?" Cat asked, looking the lifebearer up and down when she finally let go of him. "You're a bit pale. Too much work, hm? And who's this stud?" She gestured toward Eondar with a flirtatious wink.

The lifebearer made introductions, and soon, the three of them sat down at a discreet little table in a corner of the pub. Cat listened intently as Fyn told her about their search for Sylair Holden.

"Well," she said when he had finished. "You know I've been out of this special business for ages, but I still know a lot of people. Zarnian gangsters are a rarity here in town, and if you have a picture of this Holden guy, I guess there's a good chance someone might recognize him."

The journalist gave her a photo. "Here. It's about thirty years old, but we lashran don't age that much. He might be in disguise, however."

Cat took the picture and put it somewhere on her person. "No worries, darling. If he's in town, my friends will find him."

"Thanks, Cat. So, what can I do for you in return?" the lifebearer asked with a smile.

The woman leaned back in her chair and grinned. "You said something about working with the Alliance?"

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little explanation of the word "Amsinol": It's a medicine that's usually used to suppress the rather uncomfortable symptoms of a lifebearer's seasonals, but practically any lashran can take it anytime to keep their sex drive on a lower level since it's usually far higher than a human's. Amsinol has no ill effects, even when used regularly.


	8. in which Fyn has the worst day of his life

Chapter 8

"That was... interesting," Eondar remarked. They had been chatting with Cat for over an hour and were now taking the bus back to Fyn's apartment. "So Miss Cat really used to be a burglar?"

The journalist grinned. "Yes. But she’s an honest businesswoman now."

"But promising her to help get her nephew an internship with the Alliance?"

"Why not? Celia told me that they're in desperate need of new agents at the moment; that's why they're recruiting people as young as her. And I know Cat's nephew Sam. He's a great hacker, and the Alliance should be happy that he's willing to work on their side of the law. Besides, I didn't promise her anything. I just said that I'd mention Sam to the Alliance agents." Fyn leaned back in his bus seat. "I think it's a good idea. And I can prove to Mr. Talbot that I know what I'm doing. We'll be finding Sylair in no time."

Eondar didn't argue, but Fyn knew him well enough by now to see that he didn't like the whole thing. Obviously, he was still worried about Fyn's well-being. This realization was a warm, sweet feeling inside the lifebearer's heart, although he wasn't happy about Eondar feeling so worried. Everything would turn out fine in the end, Fyn was sure of that. Sylair Holden, the bogeyman of his nightmares, would be found and put away for good this time. It couldn't be any different.

 

As soon as he was home, the journalist called his parents. Mr. Talbot had been true to his word and had already sent some people to protect Sheldon and Cerise. Nevertheless, Fyn wanted to tell his parents everything himself as well.

"Don't worry about us, son," Sheldon said, his voice calm and collected over the phone. "We'll be careful. Sylair Holden has tried to best us once, and he got his butt kicked."

"But that's what I'm worried about," Fyn answered. "He might try to get revenge."

"I don't think so," his sire said. "From what you’ve told me, that lunatic is solely focussed on his plans for becoming the head of the Holden business and conspiring with his gangster friends. If he wanted to harm us, he'd have tried to do so already. I think, he's limiting the violence to the necessary minimum to cover his tracks – from his point of view."

Fyn sighed. "But you two be careful nevertheless. Especially Dad."

Sheldon laughed. "You father is far tougher than you think, son. He's terribly upset at the moment, but his main concerns are for you."

"I don't think that I'm in any danger,” the journalist replied. "So far, Sylair has given me a wide berth. And after everything you told me from the incident back then, he always had qualms about hurting me. I don't think that has changed. Why else the elaborate plot to prevent me from doing more research on this case when he could've just had me killed by his goons?"

"You've got a point there. But your friend Eondar is still a target, as I see it. You should look out for him. You father and I want to meet him in once piece tomorrow."

Fyn promised to do so before he hung up.

Meanwhile, Eondar had started to make dinner as he had always done while they had been living together. The spicy scents wafting from the kitchen and the little noises of pans and pots clanking had a decidedly calming effect on Fyn. He wouldn't mind hearing those sounds every day for the rest of his life.

When he realized what he was thinking, the lifebearer felt a blush creep into his cheeks. It was silly thinking about the rest of his life when they'd known each other only for a few weeks. And Eondar could still change his mind. After all, Fyn wasn't his destined mate…

He shook his head to shoo those thoughts away. It didn't matter. Fyn could be happy just like this and he was determined to be so. Now they just had to…

The sudden sound of splintering glass and a dull thump from the kitchen startled the journalist. "Eondar, is everything alright?" he called out.

No answer.

With a few hasty steps, Fyn entered the kitchen – and almost tripped over Eondar. The sire lay motionless on the floor. A puddle of red liquid grew steadily bigger around him.

The kitchen window had a tiny hole, just large enough to admit a bullet.

The lifebearer sank to his knees. The whole situation was so bizarre that he almost felt like watching a murder mystery on TV, and the rational part of his mind supplied that he was in shock. However, it left him in a state so lucid that he could act as if this really was not happening to him. Fyn felt Eondar's pulse, and there still was a steady, albeit slow beat.

The lifebearer had taken several lessons in first aid, and thanks to this strangely detached feeling, he was able to remember everything he had learned clearly. Carefully, he turned Eondar on his back. The front of his shirt had already been soaked through, but since breathing and pulse were still steady, it couldn't have hit anything vital.

Or so Fyn hoped. All he could do now was stop the bleeding and make sure it didn't get worse. His own shirt made a sturdy makeshift bandage.

 

Not daring to stand up again in case there were any more shots, the lifebearer crawled into the living room to grab his cell phone. He had put Celia's number on speed dial, and it took her just two rings to answer.

"Mr. Sheldon?"

"You have to send someone over to my apartment. Eondar has been shot," the journalist told her in a voice that didn't sound like his own at all. "The shot came through the kitchen window. There has to be a sniper in the building north of mine."

"What the… okay, stay calm. We'll be there in a minute with an ambulance as well. Try to keep Eondar breathing!" the young agent answered. Fyn could hear her shouting orders before she hung up. Then he hastily went back into the kitchen.

Eondar's usually deeply tanned face had a sickly pallor, and the lifebearer noticed with alarm that his heartbeat had grown unsteady and slowed even more.

"No, you don't," Fyn murmured. Although he was afraid to do more damage, he carefully started a heart massage.

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. The journalist had no idea how long he had been kneeling there, trying to keep his beloved alive until finally the apartment door burst open. Celia, her agents, and two paramedics rushed in, and from there, everything was a blur to Fyn. The shock finally took over, and after managing to tell Celia what had happened, he broke down sobbing so hard his own chest ached as if he had been shot as well. Celia gently hugged him until it was over.

"Come on, let's go to the hospital," she urged him. "By now, they should have stabilized Eondar. He's a strong fellow, I'm sure he'll be alright."

Fyn just nodded.

 

Half an hour later, both of them stood beside Eondar's bed in the hospital. Celia had been right; the sire was stable by now. The bullet had pierced a lung, but chances for a full recovery were very good although Eondar hadn't woken up yet.

But this didn't make Fyn feel relieved in the slightest. After the initial fear and panic, anger started to take over.

"Celia, how could this happen?" he finally asked, voice still raw from crying. "I thought my apartment was secure!"

"Frankly, I have no idea," the girl answered, her face grim. "This shouldn't have happened. But you can be sure that I'll clear this up. "

"I don't suppose that you caught the sniper?"

She shook her head. "No. That building is still under construction, and officially nobody has access to the level from where the shot must have come. But we'll investigate this, don't worry. This is unprecedented."

"No, it isn't," Fyn murmured. "I know a thing or two about secret operations, and this isn't the first time the Alliance failed. Last time it was due to a very clever opponent and a traitor."

Celia didn't answer.

A few minutes later, Jordan and his mate Telias entered the hospital room. Fyn would have preferred to meet Eondar's younger sibling under better circumstances, but unfortunately, neither of them had a choice. Telias was a tall lifebearer, as tall as his bondmate, with dark skin and hair like his brother's and a sharp, striking face with unusual dark ruby eyes. All in all, he looked like a person not to be trifled with, and Fyn instantly liked him.

Telias stepped up to the bed and gently stroked his brother's face. "You come back to us, you hear me?" he whispered. Then, he leaned down to kiss Eondar's forehead.

"I'll stay here tonight," he announced. "Jordan, you go back home to the kids. They don't need to know that something's happened. Tell them that I'm working, okay?"

Jordan nodded. With a last, sad look toward his brother-in-law, he nodded a greeting to Fyn and Celia and then left. The young agent also went outside where she stood guard until her colleagues arrived.

Telias McKenzie finally noticed the other person still present. His gaze lingered on Fyn for a moment. "So you're Eondar's new boyfriend?"

"You could say that," Fyn replied. "Fyn Sheldon. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

The other lifebearer gave a humorless laugh. "I can't say I have. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy that my big bro has finally found someone else after all these years of moping. But as I understand it, he definitely picked the wrong guy since all of this is more or less your fault."

The journalist opened his mouth to argue, but then he closed it again. As hard as it was to hear that, Telias had a point.

"And now, I'd like you to go," Telias continued, voice still sharp and unforgiving. "Eondar has had enough catastrophes in his life."

Fyn hadn't been at a loss for words often in his life, but this was one of the occasions. Being thrown out like this, he couldn't do much else than leave.

Outside, he met Celia talking to Mr. Talbot. The man looked even more morose than before, and his face darkened with every word. "I'll see to this, agent. The honor of our organization is at stake here," he grumbled, ignoring Fyn's presence. "And please keep that little journalist from writing anything about it."

The lifebearer turned around and went down the corridor of the hospital.

He had had enough. And there he thought a day couldn't get worse than the ones he had had just recently. But today… Kalish almost getting hit, Eondar getting shot, his brother throwing him out and that damn Mr. Talbot ignoring him the whole time.

Fyn didn't stop even when he heard Celia call him. All the hurt and frustration, the disappointment and worry knotted themselves together deep inside him to form the biggest mass of hate and anger he had ever felt in his life.

Yes, it might have been his fault - partly. But the one mainly to blame was Sylair Holden. And Fyn wouldn't rest until that bastard was under lock and key.

"Fyn, please wait!" Celia grabbed his shoulder to stop him; the familiar address indicated her worry. "You can't go and find that assassin or Sylair on your own!"

"And why not? Do you think that a little, nosy journalist like me can't do anything useful besides causing trouble for other people?" the lifebearer shot at her, eyes blazing. "You saw what happened when I leave the job to the so-called professionals! Eondar barely survived! And who's next? Kalish? Othric? My parents? I won't sit here and wait until that happens!"

"Then help us," Celia pleaded. "Let’s work together. If we…"

"We? You heard your boss. He's just afraid I’ll write about the Alliance's failures. Maybe he doesn’t even truly believe my theory about Sylair Holden being the one behind all this. Sorry, Celia. You're a good and competent person, and I know you believe me, but I'm done trying to work with people who don't take me seriously."

With those words, the lifebearer left. The young agent shook her head with a sigh, but didn't stop him.

 

Fyn took a taxi home. His apartment still smelled of delicious food, but his stomach was in a tight knot. The journalist cleaned up the kitchen and tried to think. What could be done? His anger wasn't productive, he knew that. If he really wanted to make a difference in this matter, he had to think clearly and rationally and not let his judgement be clouded.

After cleaning up, Fyn sat down in the living-room and took out his cell phone to call Cat. It wasn't possible that she had information for him after only a few hours, but he wanted to tell her about the sniper. There couldn't be many people in this city who were marksmen this good. The building under construction was rather far away on the other side of a broad street, and the kitchen window was fairly small, not to mention the moving target behind it.

Cat answered the call after a few rings. "Hello, darling. Are you a telepath now? I just wanted to call you," she said. "A few friends of mine informed me about the shooting. Is your friend alright?"

Fyn told her in a few words about Eondar's condition. "Please tell me that you have something new for me," he pleaded.

"Actually, I do. It's very possible that the assassin isn't from here. A friend of mine has been… working for some people doing transactions with Zarnian crime lords in other cities, and he mentioned that the Shark has a bodyguard who is an uncanny marksman. Maybe he's the shooter."

Fyn felt his heart beat faster. "Any names or descriptions?"

"Apparently, that guy isn't from Zarn, but an Avran, so he has no accent to give him away around here. A fairly plain-looking lashran sire with light brown hair, no distinctive marks besides a tattoo on his left wrist in the shape of a snake. He's known as Viper," Cat told him. "I know, it isn't much, but…"

"It's more than enough," Fyn answered. "Thanks, Cat. If this Viper guy is here, we have a serious lead now."

"Maybe. Good luck, darling. I'll keep you posted," Cat promised him.

Fyn put his cell phone away. The description his informant had given him sounded somehow familiar, but he didn't know where to put it. All the horrors of this day didn't help either. The lifebearer turned off the lights and decided to go to bed. However, the bed felt strangely cold and empty, and the thought of Eondar lying in the hospital, still unconscious, kept him awake.

Fyn stared up at the dark ceiling for what seemed like hours, until he finally dozed off. Seconds later, he practically jumped out of bed, once again wide awake.

He had just remembered where he had seen a man matching Viper's description. It had been the bartender at the hotel bar where he and Kalish had gotten so terribly drunk the other night.

To be continued...


	9. in which Fyn goes ballistic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather violent. Please be warned!

Chapter 9

Fyn didn't waste any time. He quickly got dressed, nearly tripping over his own boots that he hadn't bothered to put away. He took time to lace them properly, however, before he stormed out of his apartment. The Alliance agents watching his home would see him, of course, but he was in no mood to contact Celia. If they had even one ounce of intelligence, they would follow him and intervene when necessary.

A taxi was quickly found, and a few minutes later Fyn was on his way to the Holden hotel. He thought about calling Kalish, but he didn't want to wake and upset his friend. Othric would learn about this anyway.

The hotel bar was nearly deserted at this late hour, and only a few guests were still there. The journalist quickly scanned the bar, but there was an unfamiliar young woman behind it, polishing glasses.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for your colleague. A sire with light-brown hair and a tattoo on his wrist," the lifebearer asked her.

"I'm sorry, it's his free night," she answered with an apologetic smile. "Can I relay a message?"

"You don't happen to know where I can reach him?" Fyn pressed.

Now the bartender eyed him suspiciously. "I'm sorry, are you a friend of Vale's?"

"Yes, I am. Please, it's important." Never before had Fyn made eyes at someone like this. Looking sweet and harmless seemed to have at least one advantage.

The woman's heart visibly melted. "Okay, he'd never forgive me if he missed a cutie like you. I don't know Vale's address, but he told me that he has another job at "Moonlight". I guess he's bartending there on his free nights. Good luck!"

Fyn thanked her and quickly exited the hotel. "Moonlight" was a rather seedy night club and hotel, but he had been there for research before. He had to find Viper – or Vale, as the bartender was calling himself. Asking Othric about the employment details was pointless; the assassin had surely given only false details. But if he had told his colleague about it, it was a different matter. Even the best professionals slipped up sooner or later. And "Moonlight" was the ideal place to hide. Nobody asked questions there.

About ten minutes later, Fyn reached the street where "Moonlight" was located. The taxi driver hastily drove away, not willing to wait this time. But the journalist wasn't afraid of the area or the sinister people lurking here.

He was the one people had to be afraid of.

With a grim smile, the lifebearer strode toward the entrance to "Moonlight". A burly bouncer guarded it, but a gracious tip was enough to admit even someone looking decidedly too young to be in a nightclub.

Late evening was the perfect time to be here. Dozens of people, lashran and humans alike milled about, dancing, talking, and drinking. The club "Moonlight", true to its name, was rather dark, with only a few blue and silver decorations and lights here and there. Next to the dance floor were several cages with exotic dancers in them. Tonight seemed to be a "heaven" theme since each one of them was wearing little white wings and fake halos.

The journalist crossed the floor toward the bar, keeping an eye out for Viper or even Sylair, but no such luck. It would have been far too easy. Fyn needed access to the underground floor. There, the real "fun" took place: open drug dealing, prostitutes entertaining their clients in plain sight, even impromptu fights. But it wasn't as easy to get down there as it had been to enter the club. Luckily, Fyn still knew one of the passwords from his last meeting down there.

Another bouncer guarded the stairs leading down, but a whispered word and another generous tip gained Fyn access. Down here, it was even darker. Wads of smoke billowed about; the journalist recognized the sweet odor of a drug. Trying to inhale as little as possible, he made his way past a group of men obviously deep in a trance. The music wasn't as loud down here and barely veiled the various noises of passion from dark corners.

The underground floor also had a bar, but here the alcohol was far stronger, with some illegal labels mixed in. The lifebearer gritted his teeth when he noticed that the man behind the bar wasn't the one he was looking for. He was just about to go over there and ask when a cold piece of metal was suddenly pressed into his neck. Fyn dared to risk a glance sideways and saw a rather plain-looking sire with brown hair. He smiled nastily.

"Welcome, Mr. Sheldon. Would you be so kind as to follow me?" Viper whispered, pressing the tiny knife even harder against Fyn's neck, almost drawing blood.

Nobody around them noticed anything. The lifebearer had no choice. He was good in hand-to-hand-combat, but all Viper had to do was flick his finger, and Fyn would be doomed.

"People know that I'm here," he whispered, barely daring to breathe. "It's just a matter of minutes…"

"You mean your bodyguards from the Alliance? Since my little "greeting" to your friend nobody's been watching your apartment anymore. They're all running around, looking for me. Not a soul knows where you are," Viper answered with a malicious grin. "Your cell phone, please."

Slowly, Fyn pulled the little device out of his pocket and gave it to Viper. The man took at look at the outgoing calls list.

"I knew it, you didn't call for backup. Now come along."

The lifebearer closed his eyes and obeyed.

He was totally on his own now.

 

Viper shoved him through a door in the back; behind it were stairs leading upstairs. The light was dim, but Fyn could see enough not to stumble. He didn't dare to make any unexpected moves.

The staircase led to a shady, narrow corridor with lots of doors, all looking the same. At the far door, Viper stopped and opened it. The room beyond was surprisingly well-furnished in dark red tones; just a few lamps cast a warm, inviting light. It was almost absurdly cozy.

Viper pushed Fyn inside and closed the door behind them, locking it.

"Why am I here?" the journalist demanded to know, turning around. His heartbeat was impossibly loud in his ears, and his knees felt like jelly, but like before, his head was incredibly clear.

"We need to talk."

A gentle, cultivated voice spoke from a dark corner of the room. Fyn turned around to see a figure rise from a seat. It was a lifebearer dressed in a dark suit with honey-brown hair framing his face. A second later Fyn recognized the icy blue eyes.

"Sylair Holden."

The other lifebearer smiled, and it was one of the scariest things Fyn had ever seen. "Hello, Fyn. I'm sorry for the rude welcome. Please take a seat."

"I prefer to stand." Fyn crossed his arms in front of his chest and tried to sound brave. "What is this all about?"

Sylair tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "As I said, we need to talk, you and I. This little game has gone long enough, and since you seem unable to take a hint, I decided to let you find me. The Alliance is so pathetically inept at the moment, but you just needed that little hint about Viper. Oh, don't worry, your friend Cat has no idea. She got this information from a source she deemed reliable. But everyone's loyalty is for sale – for the right price."

"Well, I'm here," Fyn answered, mentally kicking himself. Why hadn't he told anyone where he was going? Sylair had played him perfectly, relying on Fyn's own anger and disappointment in people. "What do you want?"

Sylair fixed him with those blue eyes of his. "I want you to back down for good. Forget everything you've seen and done in the last few weeks, get a new job in a different city – there are still a few where there is no Holden hotel. If you do that, I'll spare your parents and your lover, on the condition that they also forget everything about me. Your Eondar was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm willing to overlook that. And I don't hold a grudge, although Sheldon and his little whore are at fault for my spending the last decades in a closed mental ward. I have better things to do."

"Don't talk like that about my father!" Fyn hissed. "And it's too late! The Alliance knows everything Eondar and I found out, and they'll get you and Viper. There is enough evidence to lock you up for the rest of your life if you ever dare to make a public appearance again."

Sylair laughed; it was a nerve-grating sound. "For being such a smart person, you are really dumb. Of course I know that Sylair Holden is a wanted man. But he will never reappear. Someone unknown will claim the heritage of the Holden hotel empire, and dear Othric will have no other choice than accept him as a family member."

"What do you mean? And why did you try to kill my friend Kalish?"

"Oh, don't be silly. Viper here didn't even graze him," Sylair waved the accusation aside. "If he doesn’t bond to Othric, everything will be fine. But as his best friend, I guess you can convince him to leave. Maybe Othric is already scared enough to decide for himself that bonding anew is a bad idea. People can get hurt so easily."

Slowly, very slowly, it dawned on Fyn. "You don't want Othric to rebond so he won't have any heirs. And the only true Holdens left are Othric and me."

"Exactly," Sylair purred. "You're catching up. But now comes the real surprise: a long –lost son of Aravin Holden will show up, complete with papers to identify himself, and, even more important, the genes to prove it. It took me a very long time to find out, but you see, dear Fyn – in the end, we are cousins for real. But not, as it all started out, because you're Aravin's son and I'm Othric's, but the other way around. The man I called uncle all my life had an affair with my father. I am a true Holden."

Fyn was indeed surprised. He had expected Sylair to have influenced some poor child to claim the heritage, but that… "When did you find out?"

"Recently. When I left the mental ward a year ago, I visited my father who's been living in Zarn for a while. He finally told me the truth, and I have no reason to doubt him. The only problem is the fact that I don't have a Holden firstborn's green eyes, but after a bit of research I found out that Aravin had a child he didn't know about, back in college. The mother never informed him, and the boy died of a heart defect when he was little." Sylair's eyes flashed. "You see, everything's been taken care of. Dear Othric will retire, and the Holden Empire will be mine."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Fyn interjected. "I'm still here. I don't have any interest in the heritage, as you might know. But what will you do if my children want to claim their right some day? I know you wouldn't kill any family members, Sylair, or you would have done away with Aravin, Othric, and me long ago."

"You're right, I do have a soft spot for my family," the other lifebearer allowed. "But I took care of that special problem a long time ago."

"What do you mean?" Fyn asked, feeling a cold shiver running down his spine.

Sylair inspected his perfect nails. "You know I kidnapped you when you were a child, right? Don't worry, I didn't hurt you. I gave you lots of toys and sweets. And you didn't even wake up when I gave you that injection of Lyzerol-C. Since scandals are your job, I'm sure you know all about it."

The journalist almost didn't believe his ears. Of course he knew of the scandal involving the experimental contraceptive Lyzerol-C. It had been on the market about forty years ago, promising any easy solution for lifebearer contraception, even suppressing the uncomfortable side-effects of seasonals. All it took was an injection once a month. But the long-term effects were serious: many lifebearers who had used Lyzerol for a time hadn't been able to conceive for years to come or birthed children with severe health problems, and some of them, mostly those under forty years old, had been sterile for good. The stuff was finally taken off the market after big protests, since lashran weren't the fertile sort under the best of terms. The human developers of Lyzerol-C had even been accused of trying to exterminate the lashran race.

"You…gave me an injection of that stuff…when I was FOUR YEARS OLD?!" Fyn finally had found his voice again. "And you call that 'not hurting me'? You murdered every single future child I might have had!"

He lunged at Sylair, but a sharp, hot pain suddenly shot up his right leg. With a cry, Fyn sank to the ground. One of Viper's tiny knives stuck out from his lower leg, right above the old injury. He tried to get up again, but it hurt so terribly that he gave up.

"Tsk tsk, Fyn. We are civilized people here, who would resort to something primitive like scratching my eyes out?" Sylair looked down at him in mock reproach. "You should be grateful that I put you out of the game like this. And having kids isn't really something to look forward to. I will have some more in the future, of course, to ensure the survival of the Holden family, but it's really no fun at all."

The journalist looked up at him, clenching his teeth. "You have kids? Who was so desperate to touch a snake like you?" he hissed.

Sylair grinned. "Oh, I had my free pick in that mental ward. Lots of nice doctors and nurses eager to get into my pants. Why do you think I was let out of there? They don't keep pregnant people in there. Sadly, it's just a girl."

"So I guess you seduced that Zarnian crime lord as well so he'd agree to lend you his goon?" Fyn asked, glaring back at Viper who still guarded the door, playing with another knife. He still wanted to know the whole story, and strangely enough, the pain in his leg helped him focus again. The white-hot rage he had felt moments ago at Sylair's confession hadn't settled down, but it was under control now. Fyn only had a chance to learn Sylair's whole plan if he stayed calm.

"I didn't have to, since my dad had already done the job for me. He's been living with the Shark for years now. I guess it runs in the family," Sylair answered. "Well, you know the whole story now, and you'd better keep it to yourself. You don't have any proof anyway, and I know you don't want anyone to get hurt anymore. Besides…" The lifebearer smiled his nasty smile again. "Nobody’s really believed you up to now, why should they now? You're just too tiny and cute to be taken seriously. Well, I guess it's a side effect of that Lyzerol. Otherwise, you'd be the spitting image of that whore Cerise by now."

"Say that again." Fyn's voice was like ice.

Sylair crouched down, their faces so close their noses were almost touching. Time seemed to stop. The journalist's world had narrowed down to Sylair Holden's terrible smile and cold, dead eyes, and suddenly he knew exactly what he had to do. The unspeakable hate, anger and fury inside him could be channelled for one precise move – if his leg could bear it. But Fyn had to risk it. He wouldn't be let out of here like a prisoner having been pardoned by a king. Sylair had to be caught now, or none of them would ever be safe again.

"I said: nobody will ever take you seriously. And your father is a whore. Now be a good boy and let Viper take you outside."

Sylair's mocking voice did it. With a speed Fyn had never hoped to achieve, he grabbed the other lifebearer by the front of his jacket and jerked him around to face Viper. The assassin's reflexes were faster than his mind, and he had flicked a knife half a second later.

It embedded itself deeply in Sylair's throat.

Viper was too stunned to react for a few precious heartbeats, giving Fyn enough time to pull out the pistol he had felt inside Sylair's jacket. Without thinking or even aiming, he raised the weapon and pulled the trigger.

Viper crumpled with a groan, clutching his side. Fyn dropped the pistol as if it was searing hot.

"Fyn…"

Sylair's voice had lost all of its confidence; all that was left was a broken whisper. The journalist tried to stop the bleeding, but even with his limited medical knowledge he could see that the artery was pierced.

"I'm… sorry…", Sylair whispered, weakly grabbing Fyn's bloody hand. "The family… it was all… for the family…"

The journalist just nodded. There were no words left. He couldn't lie to the dying lifebearer and say he'd forgive him. But in a very twisted way, he could understand. All his life, Sylair had wanted to prove to his family and the world that he was able to take responsibility, but nobody have ever given him the chance, especially Othric.

Nobody had ever taken Sylair seriously, either. And it had turned him into a kidnapper and murderer.

The ice in Sylair's eyes seemed to break, dulling with the darkness of death. "My daughter… she's here… please don't ever tell her…" The last words were just a breathless whisper, then the lifebearer's heartbeat stopped for good.

Fyn stared down at him. "I won't tell her," he said softly, closing Sylair's eyes. "Damn you, you heartless, murderous bastard."

Carefully, very slowly, Fyn managed to pull himself up and shuffled over to Viper. The man was still alive, but the wound in his stomach would kill him soon if he didn't get help. The journalist pulled his cell phone from the man's pocket and dialled Celia's number. With a few short words, he had told her were he was, but before she could ask any more questions had shut the device off. It was a strange déjà-vu – a few hours ago, he had called Celia in that same way when Eondar had been shot.

Resisting the urge to give Viper a kick, Fyn slowly made his way to the closed door to the right. One was a bathroom, the other a rather dark bedroom. The only light came from a little night light next to a cradle. In it slept a tiny lashran baby, maybe about two months old. In the dim light, Fyn could see that she had typical golden skin and some tufts of hair in an incredible shade of strawberry blonde that almost seemed pale pink. Her little face scrunched up a bit as she woke up.

"Hey," Fyn whispered.

The girl opened her eyes and stared up at him. They were the exact same green as Fyn's own. Then she smiled.

 

A few minutes later, the club "Moonlight" was stormed by a group of special ops. Celia, wearing a bullet-proof vest and carrying a gun, couldn't believe her eyes when she found Sylair Holden dead on the floor, the assassin unconscious with a serious stomach wound, and Fyn, hands bloody and pale as death, with a little bundle in his arms. He managed to give the baby to her before he fainted.

"I'm so taking a vacation," she muttered.

 

To be continued…


	10. in which Fyn does the right thing

Chapter 10

Fyn awoke under the sterile lights of a hospital room. His leg still hurt a bit, but aside from that he felt okay – at least physically. A lashran healing trance was a convenient thing, but it didn't help with matters concerning heart and soul.

The lifebearer took a deep breath as he stared up at the ceiling.

Sylair Holden was dead.

Fyn tried not to think about this, but he couldn't stop the memories. It was partly his fault that the lifebearer had died, he knew that. But that wasn't the worst thing. What really horrified him was the strange understanding he had for all the horrible things Sylair had done. They had had a lot in common – much more than he would have liked. All that desperate fighting of a keen mind to be respected, to be accepted for what he was… maybe Sylair had been insane from the beginning, but maybe his endeavor had driven him over the edge.

Fyn could be some day where Sylair had been. Maybe not tomorrow or next year, but in ten or a hundred years…

A knock on the door pulled the journalist out of his dark thoughts. It was a female doctor with a gentle face. Her tag read "Dr. Allen".

"How are you feeling, Mr. Sheldon?" the doctor asked as she checked the wound on his leg. "We'd like to keep you here for another day, but you seem to be healing very well. We just want to make sure there were no old scar tissues disrupted that could trouble you later."

"I'm feeling okay," Fyn answered. "But I'd like to know about Mr. Solir. Is he awake yet? And what about the man I shot? And the baby?"

Dr. Allen smiled. "Actually, they are all fine. Mr. Solir regained consciousness two hours ago, but he isn't allowed to get up yet. Mr. Vale Gordon survived surgery and fell into a healing trance. He's under heavy guard from the Alliance. And tiny as she might be, the baby is actually the healthiest. She's downstairs in our children's ward for the moment."

Fyn sighed in relief. "That’s wonderful news. I guess the Alliance wants to talk to me as soon as possible?"

"Agent Warren and Agent Talbot are down the hall, talking with your family. If you promise to stay put, I'll send them in."

"I promise. But my family first. The agents can wait." Fyn propped himself up on his cushions. "Oh, and Doctor, there is something else: could you do another check-up on me while I'm here? I might have Lyzerol-C poisoning, and I want to be sure about any… permanent consequences."

Dr. Allen's friendly face went serious. "I'll tell my colleagues from the lifebearer health department. Don't worry, Mr. Sheldon, we'll get things cleared up for you. I'll send your visitors in now."

A few moments later, Sheldon, Cerise, Kalish, and Othric came in. Cerise and Kalish practically jumped on the bed to hug Fyn and wouldn't be moved under any circumstances. Although Sheldon and Othric both chose a more reserved small hug and kiss on the cheek, it was clear that they had been equally worried.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing Fyn said, addressing all of them. "I didn't want you to worry, and I didn't want you to be put in danger because of me. All I thought about was getting what I wanted, namely catching the one responsible for the whole thing." Then he looked up at Othric. "And I'm so sorry about Sylair. I should have found another way."

The sire shook his head. "It was self-defense, Fyn, and only the gods know what Sylair would have done if you hadn't stopped him. I hope he's at peace now."

"Please don't blame yourself, sweetheart," Cerise said, stroking his son's hair. "You saved us all from that madman and his hired killer."

The others nodded in agreement.

Fyn chose not to argue; he had to work that out on his own. "But there's still the baby," he changed the topic. "Othric, I think you and I are next of kin and responsible for her."

His sire nodded. "It seems so. Any ideas? We could find foster parents for her. There are a lot of childless lashran couples wishing for a baby."

"Don't you and Kalish want to raise her?" the journalist asked.

His best friend looked a bit uncomfortable. "Don't take this the wrong way, Fynnie, but Rick and I didn't want to settle down and start a family right away. I'm not feeling up to the responsibility of raising a child just yet."

"He's right." Othric sighed. "And I'm not sure how to feel about this child. Nobody can choose his or her own parents, but I'm afraid I'd try to make up to her everything I failed to do for Sylair. And that wouldn’t be healthy."

"Well, I understand," Fyn answered, making a decision. He had no idea where it came from, but it seemed to be the right thing to do. "I'll take her."

Everyone in the room looked at him in consternation.

"Fyn, are you sure? That's a huge responsibility," Sheldon reminded him. "And what about your boyfriend? I mean, even your father and I haven't met him yet, and you want to confront him with a child just after a few weeks?"

The lifebearer nodded. "Let Eondar be my problem. But I'm sure he'll be happy. You see, he lost a child before it had even been born, and he has two little nephews, so he knows how to handle little kids. I admit freely that I have no idea, but Sylair practically passed her down to me. I guess, in the end he wanted to make up to me what he had done."

"Sheldon, dear, I guess we are grandparents now," Cerise finally said, hugging his son again. "Fyn, I'm so proud of you. And we'll help you anytime, you hear me? So, what's our granddaughter's name?"

Fyn laughed. "She doesn't have one yet, dad. But what do you think of 'Anessa'?"

"That would be perfect!" Cerise beamed at him with a glint of tears in his eyes. Anessa had been the name of his mother. Fyn had never met her since she had died a long time ago, but Cerise had always told him what a wonderful woman, warm-hearted and strong-willed, she had been. It seemed to be the perfect name to welcome the baby into the family for good.

 

Finally, Fyn decided to grant the agents an audience as well. Cerise and Sheldon decided to go and meet Anessa, and Othric promised to take care of the paperwork. Since the little girl wasn't registered officially yet, it would be fairly easy to put Fyn's name on the birth certificate. That way, the girl would never know about her true father, just as Sylair had wanted.

Some things, Fyn had learned the hard way during the last few weeks, were better left in secret. The truth wasn't worth everything.

Celia and Talbot entered the hospital room a few moments later. The girl smiled in a way that could only be described as smug, and the man looked as grim as always, but somehow chagrined.

"So, what happens now?" Fyn asked. "Am I under arrest as well?"

"What? No, of course not," Talbot replied quickly. "We want to have your detailed record of the things that happened since you left the hospital the day before yesterday. And… we, that is, I want to apologize."

The lifebearer raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes. Some severe mistakes happened in our agency. The agents who were supposed to watch you weren't at their posts, and I'll have their heads for this. And… I'm going to resign as well. Miss Warren will be taking over my position as Executive Officer for missions like these." Talbot cleared his throat. "I've wanted to take my leave for some time now, and I guess I've missed the opportunity. I'm still holding to my word, however: what you did wasn't your job, and it was insanely dangerous. But if we had given you the feeling that you could trust us, all of this wouldn't have happened."

"Seems like we agree for once," the lifebearer answered dryly. As angry as he had been with the man earlier, now it seemed almost silly. Having a knife held to your throat definitely shifted priorities.

Slowly and with his usual memory for details, Fyn started to tell Celia and Talbot about the things that had happened. Celia taped everything on her recorder and finally made some notes into her e-notepad.

"And there's another thing: I want to write an article about this," Fyn said. "Will I encounter any problems? I don't intend to make the Alliance look bad, and I'll certainly not be sharing some details, but at least a bit of the truth has to be made public. It's my job after all."

Celia smiled. "No problems – but I'd like to be the first one to read your article. I'm gonna miss the job at the "Times" a great deal."

"If you ever want to come back, just say the word." Fyn answered with a smile of his own.

A few hours later, Dr. Allen finally allowed Fyn to leave his bed to visit Eondar. His leg still felt a bit stiff, but the lifebearer refused any help and slowly made his way down the hall to Eondar's room.

The sire's usually solemn face lit up as he saw his boyfriend. He was unusually pale, but at least he was sitting upright in bed. "I'm so glad you're still in one piece", was all he said, stretching out his arms. The journalist practically flung himself into the embrace. That was his Eondar – no word of worry or accusation, just the simple happiness of seeing Fyn relatively unharmed.

"Celia came by and told me what happened," he whispered. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help you."

"You had other things to do," Fyn murmured. "Like staying alive. Gods, I was scared to death. Don't you ever dare to get shot again, you hear me?"

"I promise." Eondar gently stroked Fyn's tousled hair. "If you promise not to storm off and start a war on your own again. At least take me with you."

The lifebearer gave a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I guess I'm done with the solo attempts for the time being. I don't regret what I did… but that meeting with Sylair made me realize a lot of things. I could be in his place some day, Eondar. There were so many moments in my life where I wanted to wring someone's neck… and when I shot that assassin who almost killed you… I wasn't afraid in the least. I wanted him dead, and I was almost disappointed that he survived. I'm afraid I'm as mad as Sylair deep down."

"You're NOT like him, Fyn," Eondar replied firmly. "You're a kind and warm-hearted person. And people respect you and like you far more than you think. You're just not seeing it."

"And what about your brother?" Fyn asked, looking up into the sire's eyes. "I really want to get along with him, but I won't be accused of being at fault for you getting hurt again."

Eondar frowned. "I'm sure Telias was just upset. I can't imagine him truly meaning it. He was so happy for me when I told him about you and said he'd look forward to meeting you."

"Maybe." The lifebearer snuggled closer. "But he has to deal with me anyway. That’s one of the things I decided when I realized this whole horrible affair is over: I don't want to mind what other people think of me anymore. And I'm not gonna let you go – unless you want me to."

Eondar raised an eyebrow. "And why would I ever want to send away the person I dreamt of ever since I can remember?"

"What?" Fyn blinked. "You… you really meant ME when you talked about that destined mate of yours? I thought you meant Sharelan, and because I look a lot like him…"

Eondar surprised him with the fiercest hug possible without choking Fyn. "For such a smart person, you can be really dumb," he stated, voice laced with emotion. He didn't know that Sylair had said almost the exact same thing to Fyn before, and the lifebearer gave another sob. "I'm not good with words, as you know, but I guess I have to spell it out: I love you and I've waited all my life for you and only for you, Fyn Sheldon. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. As much as I respect you, any protests in this matter will be ignored."

But Fyn was far from protesting. He quickly wiped away the tears that had threatened to form in his eyes and pulled Eondar's head down for a kiss. It tasted of utter perfection.

 

Two days later, Eondar was released from the hospital, almost fully recovered. The main problem had been him not going into healing trance right away after the injury because he had been too weak, but now everything was going to be alright.

Fyn's leg was still a little bit sore, but he ignored it. He had been busy making the apartment ready for little Anessa. As he had expected, Eondar had been overjoyed with the prospect of adopting the little girl. It was also the ultimate proof for him that Fyn took their plan of staying together seriously. Now, they were going to be a real family, and the legalities were being taken care of as well.

However, there was something else that was occupying Fyn's mind when he wasn't deliriously happy: the matter of the Lyzerol-C poisoning. The physicians specialized in reproduction had examined him at the hospital, and although they hadn't found any defects, they had noted an unusually low level of some hormones that should be in full effect in a grown lifebearer's body. In Fyn's case, they were still at the level of a teenager just hitting puberty, and that was the reason for him never having experienced seasonals so far. Since this was a rather delicate balance, and technically, Fyn was healthy, they didn't advise to alter his state with any artificial means. The only good advise the lifebearer got was to maintain a healthy sex life to encourage the hormones to be produced naturally so the problem might resolve itself in time. He left the examination room with a blush and the fierce intent to do just that.

 

The occasion presented himself to him on the second evening Eondar was back home. Jordan had given them both a few more days of vacation (although Fyn had already started to work on his big article), and Anessa was at Fyn's parents. The newly appointed grandparents had been in love with the baby as soon as they had seen her; Cerise had always silently mourned the fact that he hadn't been able to have more children besides Fyn, and neither he nor Sheldon held any grudge against Sylair's daughter. Her having a family resemblance to Fyn helped a lot as well.

 

Fyn and Eondar had ordered out dinner and were now sitting close together on the couch. They hadn't talked much that day, and even the lifebearer, as talkative as he usually was, felt no desire to chat. He and Eondar understood each other in a way that didn't even need words anymore. Maybe this meant being true mates.

The lifebearer played with the Eondar's shirt buttons as he was leaning his head against the sire's shoulder. Unsure of how to proceed, even unsure if Eondar already felt up to the task yet, he finally asked softly, "About you being the last gentleman on Wyndrah… care to stop being that altogether?"

Eondar looked down at him in mild surprise. "I can't carry you over the bedroom's threshold yet," he finally apologized.

The journalist smiled. "No problem. I can walk on my own again."

Slowly, he got up from the couch, ignoring the little stab in his leg. At least the damn thing didn't give out under him again. Then he held out his hand to Eondar – it was ridiculous wanting to pull up a man his size, but the gesture was all that counted.

The sire took his hand and carefully got up as well. He still walked a bit carefully as well as not to put too much strain on his upper body.

The way to the bedroom was short. Fyn had cleaned it up a few hours before and even put up a few candles. He lit them, feeling a bit silly; deep down, he was a hopeless romantic.

As he turned around to face the sire, the warm glow of the candles reflected in Eondar's eyes, making the usually steel look like it had been heated in a forge. He just stood there patiently, waiting for Fyn to take the first step.

A thousand thoughts were running around in the lifebearer's head – How to proceed? Was this really what he wanted? Would it be as nice as everyone claimed? Or would he disappoint Eondar?

But he firmly shoved all those musing into the back of his head. Too much thinking was a mood killer, and this was one of the times where he just had to act. Like martial arts, this was about instinct.

Fyn decided to start with the nearest things – clothes. With new-found resolve, he started on Eondar's shirt buttons that opened easily under his fingers since he had already half opened them before. The warm skin felt inviting, and the lifebearer almost laughed at the thought that he now could stare endlessly at Eondar's shirtless upper body. And even better, he could touch.

But it wasn't enough. Fyn quickly attacked the fastenings of Eondar's jeans, and with the sire's help, all remaining clothing as lying on the floor.

Of course it wasn't the first time Fyn saw a naked sire up close . He had done some research at a strip club, and there was also Kalish's memorable 30th birthday party complete with a stripper jumping out of a cake.

But this was different. Everything Fyn saw was his now – every inch of Eondar's perfect, gleaming skin over rippling muscles now belonged to him.

It was an incredibly arousing thought.

 

To be continued…


	11. in which Fyn gets his justly deserved happiness

Chapter 11

 

Eondar, despite having formidable self-control, decided after a few minutes that he couldn’t bear Fyn's exploring hands any longer without doing something himself. He gently caught those curious fingers in his own and leaned down to kiss Fyn.

However, it wasn't the most comfortable of positions due to their considerable height difference, and the lifebearer tugged Eondar over to the bed.

The sire sat down, and now it was Fyn's turn to lean down slightly for a kiss. He was still fully clothed, but that would change now. Not breaking the kiss, he started unbuttoning his own shirt.

Eondar was more than happy to help, and after a few moments, the last barrier of cloth between them fluttered to the ground.

Before he could lose his nerve – or his leg could fail him, the lifebearer climbed into Eondar's lap. Immediately, their erections brushed against each other, sending jolts of pleasure through their bodies. Fyn shuddered. He knew this was getting serious now, and despite everything, he still felt horribly nervous.

The sire noticed it, however, and gently rubbed Fyn's back to calm him. "Remember, you set the pace," he said softly.

Fyn nodded and took a deep breath. He wanted this with all his heart, he reminded himself, and he had already gone through far worse things. He could do this. Slowly, he started grinding his hips against Eondar's and was rewarded with a muffled groan.

Both of them weren't able to keep this up for long since it was still not enough. Panting, Fyn looked down into Eondar's glowing eyes, seeing nothing but love there – love and barely restrained passion.

Passion for him.

That did it. The lifebearer took one of Eondar's hands holding his hips and guided it to his entrance. He didn't trust his own fingers to do the job, and he wanted to feel his lover touching him inside.

For a moment, Eondar seemed surprised, but then he complied. Infinitely gently and carefully, he started stretching the lifebearer's opening. It took a while until he was able to get even two fingers in, but if Fyn's helpless little moans and gasps were any indicator, it felt far from uncomfortable.

"It's okay," Fyn finally whispered as he finally felt sufficiently relaxed. It had taken him a while to let go of the terrible strain inside his body and stop clenching up, but then it had felt so natural and wonderful… and still not enough to quench the fire inside him. He knew that his body was built to bear this and enjoy it, and all the worries and fears were just in his head. Years of mistrusting sires had made it incredibly hard to let go of those worries and fears, but he had to remind himself constantly that this wasn't just any sire. This was Eondar, and he would never hurt him.

And for that exact reason, the sire didn't seem entirely convinced. He frowned, suspecting Fyn of just being brave. "Are you sure?" he asked.

The lifebearer nodded. He pushed himself up so Eondar could guide himself inside. Fyn held tightly onto his lover's shoulders and then slowly sank down again as he told himself to relax. Almost unbearable seconds passed until the lifebearer finally let go of the breath he had been holding and felt his lover penetrating him completely. It was a strange feeling, on the edge of hurt, but at the same time… Fyn wiggled a little with his hips to get more comfortable and suddenly felt a flash of pure lust shooting through him. He cried out in surprise.

Eondar had watched his reactions intently, waiting for Fyn to be ready, although it took every ounce of self-control not to throw his lover onto the bed and ravish him. This was his cue, however. Holding the lifebearer tightly around the waist to keep him from losing his balance, he started to move as well.

Both were entirely lost within seconds. Fyn helplessly clung to his lover's neck, trying to continue breathing despite the incredible pleasure burning all of his nerve endings.

"Oh gods, please…" he whispered, not really knowing what he actually begged for.

But Eondar understood. With a swift move, he turned them both around, carefully letting Fyn sink backwards into the mattress. In that position, he had far better leverage. A tender kiss was placed on Fyn's right lower leg before Eondar lifted it over his shoulder and out of the way. Equally reverent kisses landed on Fyn's belly and nipples, up to his neck and finally again on his mouth.

The lifebearer clung to his lover like a drowning man, not noticing that he dug his nails deep into Eondar's back with each thrust. Everything had lost its contours, its importance, and the world around him just consisted of Eondar making love to him like there was no tomorrow.

Both were so excited that it didn't last long. Fyn literally saw stars exploding on the back of his closed eyelids as he came, screaming the sire's name. As unusually quiet as he had been this whole time, he couldn't hold back now.

Eondar caught himself on his elbows so as not to crush Fyn. "Love you," he whispered breathlessly, smiling down at Fyn. It was one of the most beautiful things the lifebearer had ever seen.

"Me too," Fyn answered, grinning sheepishly. He needed to catch his breath a bit, but this time he wouldn't just fall asleep. The night was still young, and they had barely begun. Now that the desperate urgency was gone, they could concentrate on going slow. Sure Fyn would be unable to walk in the morning. But then again, he didn’t have anywhere to go.

Everything he wanted was right here.

 

~*~ Three months later ~*~ 

The bonding ceremony of Othric and Kalish was the most beautiful party the city had ever seen. There was no distinct color code for a lashran bonding like white was for a human wedding, but using Kalish's suit as a template, Fyn had decided on cream and red as the main theme. Othric had given him plenty of leeway to organize the party, and the journalist had made full use of it. And now, the hotel's roof terrace was decorated with hundreds of big flower pots and little trees cut into perfect spheres. Since the weather also played along, the dinner tables had been put outside as well.

Othric and Kalish made their vows under a little arch made of leaves and red flowers. The sire looked splendid in a red suit with a cream shirt in complement to his future mate's outfit, and Kalish practically glowed from within with his beautiful crimson hair brushed to perfection and the happy blush on his cheeks.

Fyn was incredibly happy for both of them. He stood close by, wearing his new green suit, with Eondar by his side. The sire looked good enough to eat in a silvery grey three-piece that matched his eyes perfectly. During the ceremony, Sheldon and Cerise had been taking care of little Anessa, but when everyone went to get some champagne, he managed to get her back from the proud grandparents. Now, the little girl slept peacefully on his shoulder.

It had been really amazing how easily the sire had accepted the baby. No discussions, no "if's" or "but's". All he had said, had been, "I guess, we need a house with a garden in a few years then. Kids need space to run." For the moment, Fyn's apartment was still big enough for the three of them, but they had already started to look around for a bigger place.

The photographer was also Fyn's personal hero since he got up at night whenever the baby was crying. He had such a calm and careful hand with the child that Fyn was almost a bit jealous. Practically from the first moment on, Anessa had adopted the tall sire as if he were her biological sire.

But Fyn had learned a lot as well in these last months. Anessa was, all in all, a very uncomplicated child. She ate like a horse, had no problem with being passed around, and already showed a great curiosity for everything that went on around her. But now she was exhausted from all the new things she had seen during the party and needed a nap on her adopted sire's broad shoulder. She almost looked like a flower adornment in her fluffy pale pink dress that matched her hair. The little tufts on her head had grown, retaining that incredible color of cotton candy mixed with brown sugar.

Fyn's heart melted whenever he looked at Eondar and the baby. He was almost ridiculously happy, and, on top of it, felt that he actually deserved it. The past three months hadn't been easy, but now he was ready to put the events involving Sylair behind him for good.

The lifebearer had written a series of articles about the events, and Jordan had put them on the front page. There had been a lot of uproar involving the people Sylair had threatened, and there was even talk of establishing a trading embargo on the wilder islands of Zarn. Viper had recovered from the shot, but was sentenced here in Valkyrie Falls since he was an Avran citizen – Fyn and Eondar had been called as witnesses. All in all, a great deal had been achieved in the name of justice, and two days ago, an official letter had arrived from the office of the committee for the Avran Journalist Award. It was the highest award a journalist could get in this country, and they had nominated Fyn. The award ceremony would be held in two months.

The biggest problem in all this time had actually been Eondar's brother. Telias had refused to see Fyn for a few weeks, but they had finally sat down to talk. It turned out that Telias had been almost worried to death about his brother for months, and the shooting had just been the last straw. Slowly and carefully, the two lifebearers started to get to know each other, and with the help of Eondar and Jordan, actually started to become friends. They had a lot in common, as it turned out, and Fyn got a lot of tips involving parenting from Telias.

They had even set up a little meeting between the twins and little Anessa. Aaron and Aidan, the two little sires, had been in awe of the girl and were even allowed to hold her. Fyn dryly remarked that any future boyfriends of Anessa's would have to go through her big cousins first. It was also a beautiful coincidence that their names matched so nicely. It made the relation even closer.

 

"Hey, are you okay, Fynnie? You seem to be deep in thought!" Kalish had come over and gave his best friend a glass of champagne.

"No, it's alright. It was a beautiful ceremony," Fyn answered with a smile. "I'm so happy for both of you."

"Thanks! And I have to say the same. You've been looking positively radiant lately. And… Fynnie, are you wearing heels?" Kalish frowned, taking a step back. "You seem taller somehow."

"I grew an inch in the last two months," Fyn proudly announced. "Late growth spurt, I guess."

He hadn't told anyone about the Lyzerol-C poisoning so far, not wanting to upset the people he loved. And now it seemed that his body’s hormones were finally starting to do their work, as the doctors had predicted. The process had been too slow to actually notice, but recently the lifebearer had been looking at some photos of himself from half a year ago. The difference was stunning: the planes of his face had become more angular, and although he still looked cute and harmless, he definitely didn't look like a teenager any more. Instead, he was starting to resemble his father more and more.

The strangest thing, however, was the fact that he really didn't care anymore. It was nice not to be hit on by high-schoolers on the bus anymore, but Fyn had already made peace with some of the things he thought he couldn't change anyway.

"That's cool", Kalish replied. "Oh, can you take my glass as well? Rick and I want to dance."

"Of course." Fyn took his friend's glass of champagne and watched him saunter off toward his mate. The band started to play a beautiful tune, and Kalish pulled Othric toward the free space next to the musicians.

Eondar, who had been wandering around since Anessa slept best when she was in motion, came over towards him.

"I hope you don't want to dance with me," the lifebearer said with a lopsided grin.

"I'm not a fan of dancing," his lover replied. "And carrying Anessa around like this is like waltzing anyway. You can take over for a while." He gently lifted the baby to give her to Fyn. Anessa thankfully didn't wake up, just gave a funny little sniff in her sleep. Then she cuddled herself closer into Fyn's hair that he had left unbound for the occasion.

The lifebearer held her close and, as always, felt a wonderful warmth inside him. Slowly, he started to walk around a bit, Eondar by his side.

Ever since his latest leg injury, the lifebearer's limp had returned with a vengeance. It didn't hurt as it used to, and his leg was stronger now, but his movement was once again greatly impaired. The physiotherapist he went to was hopeful that it would get better again, but Fyn knew how long it had taken him the last time. However, there were worse things in life. Eondar drove him around (and carried him into the bedroom now that his gunshot wound was fully healed), there was an elevator in both his apartment building and his workplace, and there was no need to run away from anything.

The sire gently took Fyn's free hand and held it. Once again, he had almost read Fyn's thoughts and silently gave his approval. They had gone through so much, but from now on, they would face their problems together. And they would live together, work together, and protect each other, their little daughter and their families with all their strength. Fyn had also decided to ask Eondar to bond with him as soon as he got over the fact that being so insanely lucky wasn't a dream.

"Do you remember what I said to you on our first lunch date?" Fyn suddenly asked, stopping.

Eondar nodded. "You said that 'we’re both one of those silly types who dare to search for the truth'. You were right."

"Now I'd also like to think that we're both one of those silly types who dare to be happy at last," Fyn replied, looking up at his lover. "Right?"

Eondar leaned down, his eyes warm and glowing. "Right."

Little Anessa smiled in her sleep as her parents kissed.

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked the story!
> 
> I might return to Wyndrah some day, but for the moment, I have no plans. Fyn's story is definitely finished ^^


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